


It is Better Than The Phantom of the Opera

by cx_shhhh



Series: Les Opérables [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Dancing, Fluff and Humor, Literally All the Fluff Tags, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Singing, Slow Burn, like a lot of singing, not-so-platonic cuddling, that's kinda it - Freeform, they put on the phantom of the opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: In which Grantaire plays The Phantom and Enjolras plays Raoul. And they put on a show. Lots of sword fighting. In the most literal sense.Cliché love triangles can be solved in three ways: The girl gets one guy, the girl gets both guys, or in this case, the two guys just get together. (It's not really a love triangle, though. There’s no love lost on Éponine’s part.)“It is better than an opera~”





	1. Of Auditions and Arrogance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The extent of my behind-the-scenes musical theatre knowledge is limited to playing viola in the pit of my high school production of _Hello Dolly!_ and playing keyboard for an orchestral arrangement of Phantom. So Combeferre? Organ? A really loud amp? Been there, done that. Yes, I know a lot of music stuff. No, I don't know much else, so please, feel free to give me constructive criticism.
> 
> I’d like to thank Staircase Handle for getting me to write this brilliant baby and Adorable Mushroom for giving me some brilliant ideas. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire freaks out...

_Congratulations!_

_You have been called back for the role of The Phantom. We appreciate your interest in our production of The Phantom of the Opera. As part of the final selection process, we will need you to come in for a casting call where our production team will be confirming your availability, and taking headshots._

_Thank you,  
Stage Entertainment France_

Grantaire blinked owlishly at the words he never expected to show up in an email, on his old computer. He had auditioned for their production but hadn’t expected to hear back again, never mind get called back. Of course, what stared straight back at him proved Grantaire wrong, yet again, and pretty much forced him to get off his lazy ass in order to arrive at the aforementioned callbacks. _Eh, what’s the worst that could happen?_ Grantaire’s private thoughts aside, a spark of longing for the theatre and performing on stage again rose inside of him. He shook his head in wonder, _I need more wine for this. Oh well, here goes nothing…_

Finally, when the day of the dreaded callbacks arrived, Grantaire was pretty much as ready as he could possibly be, by which he meant, “I sang the bloody cuts enough bloody times that I annoyed my bloody neighbors until they all complained of bloody earworm.”

This, obviously, was not spoken aloud, as Grantaire wanted to at least attempt to make a good impression on the decision board and that one ridiculously strict director who, for some reason, doesn’t let anyone forget his name. Ironically, Grantaire had to wrack his brain a little before, _ah yes… Javert._ Grantaire wiped his sweaty palms on the nice trousers that he dug up from the depths of his bottomless closet and stepped up. _Welp, I either get in or I don’t… who cares anyway._

As Grantaire exits, a flurry of human being rushes past him and he reaches out to steady himself. Blue eyes lock with blue eyes, and Grantaire has no time to think before that minute connection is broken. A few muttered curses and apologies escape from both parties. The doors slam shut behind Grantaire, and he shakes his head a little, clearing his mind of everything, everything that happened in the past couple hours. He hurries home, quickly sheds the fancy stuff he wore for his audition in favor of a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and crashes on the couch with, again, a bottle of cheap wine.

A few days later, sunlight filters into the room and greets Grantaire, who groans and shoves his face back into his fluffy pillow. After attempting to fall asleep again in vain, he gropes around the general area of his phone and squints at the harsh light. And for the second time, his eyes go comically wide at the first few words that show up on that first email notification. Quickly scanning the screen to ensure that it isn’t just a hangover and he isn’t delusional, Grantaire shoves his face back into his pillow. Only this time, it’s to muffle a, ahem, squeal. Of surprise. Obviously? “No way is this happening to me. I definitely just hit my head to hard when I accidentally ran into that one guy. There is no way that I, Grantaire, screw-up extraordinaire, actually got the part. Oh look, I must be crazy. I’m literally talking to my phone. And my pillow. And the very real ceiling of this very real bedroom in this very real apartment in this very real city where a very real production of The Phantom of the Opera is gonna be held and I just happened to get the very real part of…”

Two very real words stand sharply out at Grantaire: The Phantom. He laughs deliriously at himself and goes to wash away the shock with a, daresay, very real cold shower. Finally convinced that he was not making this all up in his head, Grantaire smiles a little at himself. Not a self-deprecating one of a failure that didn’t quite reach his eyes. A genuine smile that only those who have hope of reaching their dreams could possibly give. After all, not everyone gets to be in The Phantom of the Opera and certainly not everyone gets to play the iconic role of _the_ extremely flamboyant singing ghost.

The crowded city streets of Paris fly past as Grantaire rushes to be on time to his first meeting. Absentmindedly, he wonders if there will be anyone he happens to recognize. However, in such a big city and an even larger world, that is less than likely. All too soon, he reaches the ominous rehearsal hall and pushes the double doors open. _Wow, there are so many people… and I think I know at most one of them._

Someone takes Grantaire’s arm at last and leads him out of his confusion and overall state of being lost. In the time it took for Grantaire to blink, a crowd had formed around him. This random person who had initially led him over motions for him to introduce himself. And so he had no choice but to comply in a soft voice, “Err, hello. My name is Grantaire? You guys can call me R, I guess? For some reason, I was chosen for the role of our beloved Phantom and I think I still am floating somewhere in a dream.”

That was met with a few chuckles and a few “Ohh, R, I get it”. Grantaire smiles a little shyly and a loud voice rises over the others, “Well, that won’t do! Liven up a little! This is musical theatre, where everyone is supposed to be as flamboyant as drag queens!”

Grantaire laughs and turns to seek the owner of that excited voice. He was met by none other than, “Éponine! Hey, it’s nice to see a familiar face!”

“Yeah, R. You pretty much dropped off the face of the earth after graduating. How come I haven’t heard from you in all these years?”

Éponine nudges Grantaire until he retorts, “Forget about that. I just got chosen for one of the leads and I still don’t know why you are here.”

“Well, aren’t you in for a surprise. Too bad you’ll be too busy trying to woo me with your oh-so-beautiful singing. God, I hope Javert doesn’t force us to overdo the romance. _Gasp!_ I’m gonna have to kiss you, ewwww. That’s gonna feel incestuous. Disgusting. And I’m gonna have to kiss that gay- I mean guy over there while acting _hopelessly_ in love with him,” Éponine sighs as she drapes herself dramatically over Grantaire’s shoulder. He spits her hair out of his mouth and follows the direction her eyes are fixed on in order to, “Oh no. No no no no. This is not happening to meeee.”

Grantaire covers his face with his hands and whimpers, “Umm, I think I accidentally made very intense and awkward eye contact with him after nearly bowling him over after my audition.”

Éponine just stares at Grantaire, trying to hold in poorly suppressed laughter and yells, “HEY, ENJOLRAS. GET YOUR PRETTY HEAD OVER HERE.”

“Yeah, so I am gonna get out of this building as quickly as possible so I don’t make a bigger fool- hey wait, did you say Enjol-”

Grantaire is unfortunately interrupted by the smoothest voice he had _totally_ never heard in his life before. Except, he had listened to that particular voice for hours from all the recordings of _Enjolras_ that he spent his money on. Grantaire unashamedly has a collection of professional DVDs filled with his best productions, including, but not limited to, _The Sound of Music, Cats_ (Enjolras in a skintight suit is just weird, man), and _Chicago_. Of course, Grantaire didn’t initially recognize this person as Enjolras. When Grantaire had first gone to one of his shows, Enjolras’s infamous curly, blonde hair had been much shorter. Said infamous hair clearly had been grown out for his role in Phantom and tied back in an ’80s (1880’s, that is) -appropriate ponytail at the base of his neck. And currently, aforementioned smooth voice is saying, “-it’s going to be a pleasure working with you.”

Grantaire just blinks, “Sorry?”

Enjolras gives a little huff and scowls, “Nice to meet you, finally. My name is-”

_Oh well, I guess those with a famous background can afford to be arrogant._ Grantaire couldn’t possibly pass up on a chance to mock Enjolras’s stuffy personality and the figurative stick up his beautiful ass, “Yes, yes, Apollo, I got that.”

Enjolras’s jaw tightens a little and he just rolls his eyes and continues, “Enjolras.”

“Bless you.”

Now, he downright grits his teeth and glares at Grantaire, “Now, if you actually looked at the cast listing, you would know that I am playing-”

“Yeah, the oh-so-romantic Vicomte de Chagny. I was a little shocked over my own role so please excuse my forgetting to look at the cast list. It was all quite a bit sudden for me, as you can see. But my dear Éponine has explained to me all I really need to know.”

With that, Grantaire _politely, because yes, he can be POLITE when he wants to,_ excuses himself and tries to get out of the suffocating building as soon as possible. Grantaire feels tears prick at his eyes, and he scrubs at them. He knew this would happen; he’s gone too long without embarrassing himself in front of others. Éponine stays behind to make small talk in order to diffuse the tension for a little longer. Grantaire almost makes it to the exit. Almost. Because two other very familiar faces catch on his peripherals. They are none other than Joly and Bossuet, Grantaire’s best friends since his awkward days of middle school. Without a doubt, Grantaire is more than a little shocked by this, as they haven’t seen each other since they split after high school, and the country is just a little too large for three friends to happen to meet after _so many_ years apart. However, many years apart clearly did not loosen the ties of their friendship as Grantaire is quickly swallowed by a pile of massive hugs. Joly opens his mouth and says, “Drink with us! To days gone by, R.”

That suddenly brightens his night again and instead of rushing back out into the streets of Paris, he stays and chats with the “New Managers of the Opera”. By the time Grantaire stumbles back to his apartment, he is rubbing his eyes. He quickly does his nightly routine and passes out on his bed. After all, he would have to deal with Enjolras and his shiny ass once rehearsals actually start and attempt to not run him through with the blunted sharp end of his prop blade. _Let the wine of friendship never run dry…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self-promotion: [ This. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357626/chapters/48274195)


	2. Of Rehearsals and Redoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras tries again...

_He was floating through some really fluffy clouds when_ BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Enjolras almost cried at being interrupted from his really nice dream by his rude alarm. _Coffee_ was his first coherent thought of the day- oh wait, it was the dreaded first day of dreaded _eight-hour_ rehearsals and Enjolras just wanted to flop down into his fluffy, cloud- err, pillow and sleep for the rest of eternity like Endymion. His traitor brain just continued to yell at him to wake up and smell the freaking coffee, goddammit.

His second coherent thought, after being thoroughly caffeinated, is _Phantom._ Enjolras convinces his body to speed up his pace to *sigh* rehearsals. When he finally approaches the rehearsal hall, he has to mentally prep himself not to explode over the smallest of issues because even with caffeine running through his veins, an early morning Enjolras does not equate to a happy Enjolras. When he approaches the door, all hope of having a relatively nice time flew out the window. The first sight to greet him is, of course, _Grantaire_ and Éponine doing ridiculous vocal warm-ups together. Last Enjolras had checked, this was professional musical theatre, not High School Musical.

Nonetheless, he hangs around the back to wait until 10:00 AM finally approaches. Enjolras scans the room, catching sight of ensemble members getting to know each other, the rehearsal accompanist studying the score, and various members of the ballet corps warming up. He tries to catch sight of any familiar faces, but unfortunately, he knows that Courfeyrac and Jehan would be in the pit, and therefore Enjolras decides to remain in the corner. A few minutes later, he’s approached by their accompanist and primary keyboardist for the pit. He is a tall man, taller than even Enjolras, and introduced himself as “Combeferre, but I go by 'Ferre sometimes, if you feel like it,” while fixing his glasses and offering a hand out to shake. Enjolras shows a sliver of a smile and decides that this Combeferre could be nice to have around. “Enjolras, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so shorten it however you like.”

At 10:00 sharp, Director Javert walks into the room and gives his customary “I’m Javert, do not forget my name” to the group. That was pretty much it for introductions from him before he dismisses them to work through Act I of the show individually or as small groups. “Those who aren’t in Act I, you can leave and come back when you are needed. Ballet corps, you will be rehearsing in Room 1, the choreographer will work with you. Rehearse the opening. Hannibal, et cetera, et cetera. Anyone else who is not a lead, you will stay here and work with me. Grantaire, Enjolras, and Éponine, work out the solos together. I assume at least one of you knows how to play the basic chords for those songs? Great. Go away and let’s try to end this rehearsal early. I’ll play Mr. Nice Guy and allow scripts for this rehearsal, even though everyone should have practiced their lines before today. Tomorrow, I’d better not see a single sheet of paper with lines.”

Suddenly, the still quiet of the room bursts into even more frenetic energy as everyone shuffles to the locations Director Javert had barked out. Enjolras, albeit reluctantly, holds his head high and strides to the door. He waits for Grantaire and Éponine to approach before the three of them head off to a smaller practice room. Being generally unafraid to talk and make conversation, Enjolras attempts to diffuse the awkward silence with everyone’s favorite starter, “So, the weather outside is nice.”

Éponine only snorts and Grantaire looks out the nearest window to retort, “Sure, if you like clouds and smog.”

Enjolras gives Grantaire a tiny glare and throws back, “Well, we do live in a busy city, so that is expected. However, if people actually did give a crap about pollution and such, our city could be-”

“We get it. You think Paris can be pretty much perfect. Yay, optimism.”

“I was just voicing my opinions. Why are you so standoffish anyway? I get that last night we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but I thought we could all be mature adults and put that all behind us. We have to work together, you know, and that usually happens when both parties actually try.”

Enjolras just receives a glare back from Éponine (what did he do wrong?) and a hard stare from Grantaire while he mutters, “How could you accuse me of not being a mature adult? I certainly am not the one glaring at you with my oh-so-piercing eyes and scoffing at every word that leaves your mouth. You look like an… look, are we actually going to start? Because contrary to what you might have thought, the practice room was not nearly far away enough for us to start a debate. I don’t think we can forgive each other for our less than smooth start, but we can put it aside for all of our sanities, right?”

“Sure, yeah. What happened a few days ago is all forgotten for now, yeah? And I apologize for my behavior, I was just a little nervous to see who my castmates would be. Err, let me try this again, hello, I’m Enjolras.”

“The mighty Apollo gets nervous? And he’s apologizing? I never thought I’d see the day. Nice to meet you, I’m Grantaire.”

“And I’m Éponine.”

Two pairs of eyes shift to the third person in the room who smirks, “Hello? I’m still here? And if you want to stare at each other all day, that’s perfectly fine with me, but just let me know and I’ll get out of here so you guys can practice your sword fighting alone.”

Enjolras is pretty sure his face is turning the nice, ripe color of a tomato out of sheer embarrassment at the implication of those words. He peeks out of the corner of his eye to gauge Grantaire’s reaction. He looks a little flushed, but he’s _grinning._ Grantaire and Éponine lock eyes before the two of them burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Enjolras just stands off to the side, definitely not pouting a little. _Definitely not._

A few minutes later, Enjolras headed over to the nice grand piano in the room to attempt to accompany Éponine and Grantaire as they sing the big number in the entire show. The first large organ chords fill the room and Éponine starts with her clear soprano, _“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came…”_

Grantaire joins shortly in the second verse with a soft well-tuned tenor, _“Sing once again with me our strange duet…”_

Enjolras’s hands nearly stop on the keys after hearing those familiar words sung in arguably the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He shakes his head to clear the thought because _what the heck_, and his fingers try to find the right chords again. If any of the other two notice the slip-up, they are both nice enough not to mention it. And so the song continues and Enjolras manages not to freak out again. Both Grantaire and Éponine are slightly out of breath when it finally ends, which is expected and pretty damn good for a first run through. “That was incredible, guys, but I think we need to go back and look at a few places.”

Grantaire smiles a little at Enjolras and Éponine hums in approval, “Yeah, let's go back to that one really high part.”

That was met with two very blank stares, “Uhhh, Éponine, your entire role is freaking HIGH. So high that Mt. Everest could try to climb it and get altitude sickness.”

“Now Grantaire, you’re just being dramatic. Let’s start from where you start commanding me to sing. Now that I think about it, that concept is so weird. Like I’m just there, in a freaking boat, and you’re supposed to just thrive off of my high as heck vocalizing.”

“Shhh. Don’t think about it too much. Otherwise it’ll just become weirder and weirder. Apparently I’m also allowed to be as dramatic as I want? Like I’m thinking, slicking back my hair and running to the organ just to slam my hands down on some random keys.”

That was when Enjolras decides to cut into the conversation, “Um, so do you want some pitches?”

The rehearsal continued for another hour, going through the duets and half-heartedly singing the trios while one unlucky person was chosen to try to play the chords and sing at the same time. Enjolras was stuck with that role during the “Little Lotte/ The Mirror” scene. After his verses, he let his thoughts wander a little. _Why Grantaire? I’d pretty much never heard of him before just days ago and suddenly he gets chosen for such an influential role?_ Enjolras’s eyes widen and he tries to dispel that thought as quickly as it came. What had come over him? Nobody should be judged on how famous they were, none of that matters when there is true talent like Grantaire’s. Obviously the decision board saw that and gave him the role because he deserved it. When his thoughts drift back to earth, the others were done and just standing there, waiting for Enjolras’s mind to catch up to his fingers, which had miraculously played everything in the distracted state he was in.

12:00 arrives and with that, their lunch break. Enjolras waves an awkward farewell to Grantaire and Éponine, and tries to locate Combeferre. Thankfully, he had just stepped out of his room, so Enjolras latches onto the opportunity to get to know him better. On his way, he catches sight of a few others who look a little lost in the hallway: Cosette, who was selected to play Meg Giry because of her dual talent in singing and ballet, and Feuilly, who was chosen to play the much less glamorous role of the poor stagehand, Buquet. That was, in Enjolras’s humble opinion, a waste of a beautiful face. But, it was for a reason, as he had worked set design in the past and didn’t need any additional assistance navigating the “opera house backstage”. The two of them had just gotten out from rehearsing the “Magical Lasso” scene with Cosette’s mother, Fantine, who funnily enough, played Madame Giry, and the rest of the female corps de ballet. Enjolras had seen Cosette a few times in the past, but they were never close enough to be considered friends. He does know the scandal that she was Fantine’s illegitimate child from her teenage years, and therefore both are well in the age range for musical theatre.

“So, how was rehearsal for you?” Enjolras decides that is a good icebreaker question. Combeferre is quick to reply, “I didn’t think my hands could possibly blister from playing piano, but somehow it happened,” all said in a deadpan expression. A few chuckles all around. Cosette picks up the conversation, “The corps were pretty good! I can’t wait to rehearse with Éponine, though! Did you know we grew up together? I don’t think she remembers me but she’s sooo good. What’s going on, by the way, between ’Ponine and R?”

That’s where Feuilly cuts in, “Er, well, I overheard my friend Bahorel, Slavemaster, speaking with Grantaire earlier. I really don’t know the facts, but Éponine was there, all the way up to their graduation from Conservatoire de Bordeaux. Apparently, R had pretty much offers everywhere until they just… stopped coming. A year later, he pretty much dropped off the face of the earth, cut all ties, and resorted to drinking in various bars. Bahorel just happened to have a job at one of them to keep his ballet career afloat. But long before that, R used to take dance classes and stuff with him.”

Now that Enjolras has a very vivid image of Grantaire dancing _ballet_ of all things in his mind, he has to change the topic quickly. Seeing as this conversation was dropping in lightheartedness, Enjolras interrupts, “Well, he’s back, which is good. And he’s good. Like, really good. At singing. Yeah.”

The others just stare at him and he throws up his hands and exclaims, “Why does this keep happening to me? What’s so surprising about me complimenting others?”

Combeferre awkwardly clears his throat, “Well, he’s not exactly the only one with talent in this production. I’m pretty sure we all knew who you were before you even ‘introduced yourself’.”

That is accompanied with air quotations from long pianist fingers and eyerolls from Combeferre and Feuilly. Cosette nudges Enjolras and chips in, “Yep. Pretty much any production we’ve seen, you’ve been in.”

Enjolras has nothing better to do with his hands than to use them to cover his, _ahem_, rapidly burning face. The rest of their meager break is finished in comfortable silence, eh minus their resident tomato, and when cast members start trickling back in, Javert pops out of his office, “I’m Javert”, and another six hours of rehearsal takes place.

This time, with Éponine and Cosette having their parts in “Angel of Music” taken care of, Enjolras and Grantaire have little choice but to work on dialogue and other smaller scenes.

When the clock in the practice room reaches 7:15, Enjolras all but slams the lid of the piano down midsong and gathers his stuff to sprint out of the room. Not once does he look back at Grantaire. _Well, successful day? There’s a new world for the winning…_


	3. Of Debating and Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're late...

Weeks fly by incredibly quickly. All of them filled with too much singing, in Grantaire’s opinion, and too much dancing, not exactly Grantaire’s opinion. Rehearsals lasted eight hours most days, and when Director Javert was nice enough, which was rarely, he gave them a few hours off. In those weeks, the musical improved by much, with the ensemble just getting better and better (they have yet to be knocked down, knock on wood) and the leads also steadily improve. Their relationship with each other also improves, _hopefully_, as Grantaire wishes. He knows Éponine like two peas in a pod, but Golden-Haired Apollo is a different matter.

_Enjolras is… an onion. I feel like his godly arrogance is just the outer layer. He’s just so glowing… like we should all start bowing down to him. But obviously not because he’s all for anarchy blah blah blah._ Grantaire presses his hands to his temples in a futile attempt to push away any and all thoughts of Enjolras and his godlike hair and his godlike height and his godlike _butt_. Grantaire has to do a spit take with his water at that one. His mind certainly hadn’t come up with that one in the past, funny as it is, though. He stands up from that random bench and dumps his trash into the nearest can when (wow now he really wants to die) he spots aforementioned godlike butt clad in _really tight jeans_ quickly passing by. “Hey, Apollo!”

“Enjolras. What’s up, R?”

“Javert let me go for a break before I have to get back on my ass to rehearse some more scenes, like all of them.”

“Well, I was just on my way there. Care to join me?”

“Why yes, Vicomte, lead the way.”

Grantaire trails a little behind Enjolras and tries to make conversation, “Soooo, how are rehearsals going for you, brilliant Apollo?”

“Again, it’s _Enjolras_, and I swear, if Javert has me act like Éponine is the best thing since sliced bread one more time, I will maybe punch him in the face. I get that stage kisses are necessary and everything, but I just want to yell in his face, ‘I’M GAY’”

Everyone who has seen him perform knows that Enjolras is gay. His coming out was pretty much legendary, having been announced during the curtain call of quite possibly _the_ most homophobic production. Grantaire snorts and doesn’t think before adding, “Yeah, same… to the ‘I’m gay’ part, actually, bi, if we’re using technical terms. Not the ‘I would punch Javert in the face’ part. I don’t think I have enough behind me for that. And I mean, isn’t that kind of the point of your character? To be uselessly smitten with our favorite heroine?”

“I refuse to acknowledge outright that the only significant personality trait of Raoul is that he is ‘uselessly smitten’ quote unquote with Christine. He has the potential to have every bit of a personality as The Phantom. Raoul is stubborn and would do anything to protect Christine. Even to go as far as to engage in a sword fight with The Phantom.”

Grantaire has to suppress a few giggles and he wiggles his eyebrows, “Ooh, sword fighting… sounds hot.”

“Jesus Christ, not again. Be serious, Grantaire. Honestly, I don’t even know why Javert decided to use that to replace the weird fireball thingies with a sword fight. It doesn’t stick to the original script at all.”

“I never thought I would see the day when you say the words 'weird fireball thingies', but there's always a first for everything. And of course you’d have elitist opinions on such an _elegant_ and _refined_ change. Also, 'be serious'?  
You know me. I’m wild.”

A heavy sigh comes from Enjolras, “There is nothing ‘elegant’ or ‘refined’ in the way you suggest ‘sword fights’. Why must you and Éponine always make an innuendo out of two rivals in love clashing swords to ‘protect’ Christine? Actually never mind, that’s completely fine because the entire concept just oozes toxic masculinity. I’m sure Christine could protect herself if, you know, she actually needed it.”

“Exactly! In fact, why do our characters have to be _rivals_ in love when they can be rivals _in love_ instead? This is, obviously, the easiest solution for everyone. Poor ’Ponine though, she just went from two guys fawning over her to none,” Grantaire adds in the middle of laughter. Unbeknownst to him, Enjolras had slowed down in his fast-paced stride to turn a little flushed. He catches Grantaire’s eye and a few seconds pass before, “Pfft haha… ”

_Yep, that would be Enjolras. Laughing his guts out. With me, of all people. Wow, he has a beautiful laugh too._ “Oh my God, we’re actually gonna be late. Javert will have our heads if we don’t hurry,” Grantaire panics. Enjolras just stops mid-laugh, grabs Grantaire’s arm, and sprints off, a very confused Grantaire in tow. _Uhh, what just happened?_ Grantaire stops to actually consider what had happened in the last fifteen minutes. _Just discussing the morals of the super famous musical we’re putting on, arguing about the characters’ love lives, and flirting a little with Enj-_ “Ohhhh, noooo,” groans Grantaire.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Grantaire holds the door open just so it can block his embarrassed, red face from a curious Enjolras. It still earns him a weird look, but thankfully Enjolras decides to drop it. Grantaire motions Enjolras in, waving his hand awkwardly in the general direction of the door and follows him in. Right after the door closes behind him, they are met with the unfortunate sight of Javert in all of his angry glory. “Where the _hell_ have two of my leads _been_?” he yells, then he takes a deep breath, “No matter, come join the rest of the ensemble to rehearse the large numbers.”

Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief and beside him, Enjolras visibly relaxes, “Well, let’s get out of here before Javert changes his mind, yeah?”

The two of them crowd out of the room just in time to catch the tail end of the ensemble rehearsal. The door slams audibly shut and every single pair of eyes in the room swivels to stare straight at them in their slightly disheveled state. That’s saying a lot considering the entire ballet corps, Éponine, Cosette, Musichetta, Combeferre, Feuilly, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, _and_ Cosette’s mom are in the room. Grantaire gulps, “Err, hi guys, we just got an earful from Director Javert, and I’d really like to stay on his good side for now. I think this rehearsal is for scenes with leads and the ensemble?”

It’s like the room is set back in motion from the stillness that reigned a few moments ago. Combeferre makes his way back to the rehearsal piano and opens his score up to Act II. He asks Grantaire, “Which section did you want to work out?”

Enjolras beats Grantaire to the punch with, “Preferably ‘Twisted Every Way’ and all the 'Don Juan Triumphant' stuff.”

Grantaire laughs, “You talk of sword fights to be won, yet here you want to rehearse _Don Juan_. This musical will be better than that opera.”

Enjolras only scowls at him and proceeds to get back into formation for the number. Thankfully, _The Phantom of the Opera_ does not require a large amount of dancing from the leads and therefore, Grantaire and Enjolras kind of just huddle in a corner in order to sing their parts and provide lines when necessary. Through most of “Don Juan Triumphant”, Grantaire almost zones out because his role includes walking around, causing some trouble, and more walking around. This rehearsal isn’t exactly a formal “put everything together” rehearsal with all the drama and flair, so Grantaire drifts off into lalaland until a very sharp elbow pokes him in the side. _“Sing. Like now.”_

_“You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge… In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent… Silent,”_ Grantaire hurries to add. Director Javert, who had snuck into the room earlier, hums in approval. _Oh thank God for that. If I screwed up with him in the room, I probably would need to relinquish my role to the understudy._ The end of the scene nears and Combeferre’s fingers stop on the keys. The dancers sit on the floor and Grantaire leans against the wall to listen to what Javert has to say. “I loathe to compliment, but we are actually making good progress. With the rate that we are going, we can cut a few rehearsals shorter and I also loathe to say, maybe I can give you all days off.”

A collective cheer rises from the group and Grantaire can’t help but join in. A few moments later, though, “Of course, I want to see a solid run-through of Act II before anyone gets too excited.”

A collective groan rises from the group and this time, Grantaire doesn’t join in because a _run-through!_ He’s going to nail every note and Javert will be freaking satisfied with his performance. Pushing off the wall, Grantaire stands up straight and waits for the ensemble to finish the bulk of “Masquerade” before he takes a deep breath to start his solo at the tail end of the number. Once he opens his mouth to sing the first words, Grantaire feels all attention on him. He mocks Joly and Bossuet through song and mimes throwing a book in their faces while exaggerating a glare. He winks at Éponine, who silently laughs, then tosses his head and stomps off to his wall. For his dramatics, he’s awarded with hushed giggles from the company. When Grantaire catches Enjolras’s eye, he gets a roll of blue eyes and a miniscule twitch in the corner of his lips.

The rest of the act goes rather swimmingly with Enjolras sounding _fabulous_ as per usual and all of Éponine’s ridiculous high notes hitting their spots. Grantaire doesn’t even know why they casted him for The Phantom when his voice paled in comparison to his co-leads’. There were a few major slip-ups including the moment when Enjolras accidentally changed all of the female pronouns to male ones in his declaration of love for Éponine in front of Grantaire while pleading for compassion from him. Grantaire had smirked internally and hoped Javert wouldn’t chew Enjolras out for it. Javert did chew Éponine out once for sounding too “light” in the cemetery scene, _“You sound like a damn serial killer with that happy voice!”_

Grantaire didn’t make too many significant errors and so he had escaped a yelling session from Javert and the unwanted attention of the rest of the cast. Now, as he prepares to leave rehearsal, Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel make their way to him. “You sound so good, man!”

Grantaire grins, “Yeah, and you make a very fine supporting member when you aren’t herding slaves around. Remember the good old days when we would play very charming children in _The Nutcracker_? Too bad I can’t show off all these wasted ballet skills by being a half deformed creep.”

Joly stares at Grantaire and Bahorel, “Whoa, R, you used to do ballet?”

Bahorel replies and thumps Grantaire on the back, “Duuude, R was a _beautiful, beautiful_, danseur. Leaps higher than the Eiffel Tower, for sure. Beats me why he decided to retire those thighs for theatre… but whatever makes him feel better, am I right? I’m a little surprised why he never mentioned that to his closest friends when he was still taking lessons in middle school.”

Bossuet pretends to glare at Grantaire, “Yeah, instead you let us wonder why you couldn’t hang out after school when you were too busy wearing tights and thongs?”

“_Dance belts_, Bossuet. There’s a _difference_. But yeah, I quit a few years into high school because that career is definitely not for me. Too much stress before the ripe age of twenty. And the fact that a few years past that is pretty much when said career ends. But now I have this incredible company that I get to be a part of for the next half year or so and I wouldn’t change anything.”

Bahorel groans, “I don’t want to hear anything sappy from you, R, outside of being melodramatic over how Christine doesn’t love you.”

Grantaire sticks his tongue out childishly and waves to them as he walks over to Enjolras. He doesn’t quite know why he decides to turn in that particular direction, but Enjolras seemed friendly enough to walk home with. That being said, he doesn’t scowl at Grantaire, which is taken as a green light to make his way to Enjolras’s side. The two of them make their way out of the rehearsal hall and split off to go their respective ways home in comfortable silence. _At the end of the day, it’s another day over…_


	4. Of Alcohol and Adoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras drinks...

“All right, you fools. Since we are, in fact, ahead of our crammed rehearsal schedule, I will play nice cop and let you guys take the rest of the day off. Make any bad decisions and I will have your heads,” Director Javert threatens at the end of the morning rehearsal. Hesitantly, the company filter out of the room and everyone glances back at least twice to make sure Javert wouldn’t change his mind and start barking at them to get back in there. Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief as he successfully makes it out of the door and he’s quickly dragged to the side where a small group has already gathered.

“Come join us for the rest of the day,” says the woman playing Carlotta. _Musichetta_, Enjolras’s mind supplies helpfully as he scans the small group. Musichetta was already holding hands with both of her boyfriends, Joly and Bossuet, who Enjolras knew to be Grantaire’s old friends. Which definitely meant that Grantaire was included in the previously mentioned “us”, which in turn meant Éponine was also present. Éponine was chatting with Cosette about something or other and Feuilly and Bahorel hung around them. Enjolras looks over his shoulder to see Combeferre making his way over to him and the rest of the group nods enthusiastically to invite him as well. On the way to wherever they were headed, Enjolras falls in step with Cosette to inquire what exactly they were doing. “Well, I have to say that I definitely don’t know all the plans, but the plans will last well into the evening.”

“Hmm, yeah? I wonder how many of us will take Director Javert’s instructions seriously because I have the feeling that at least one of these stops will be a bar…”

Cosette only grins a little evilly and tosses her hair before flouncing off to join Éponine and Musichetta in front. Enjolras is left walking alone for a stretch before Cosette’s vacant place next to him is occupied by Grantaire. Being in a group with quite a few people means that they get a fair amount of attention from passersby and they have to stop a few times whenever a random voice screams, “OH MY GOD, IS THAT? ENJOLRAS!” or whenever the names of anyone else are mentioned. Enjolras does know that he has quite a following from those who have seen his past shows, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys being interrupted from meaningful conversation with Grantaire. Without a word to him, Grantaire hooks his arm through Enjolras’s and leads him to where Bahorel and Feuilly are talking amongst themselves. Bahorel announces in a loud voice, “We eat lunch at the Café Musain, find something else to do, then we head for THE CORINTHE WOO!”

“Oh, boy. This is going to be a wild time.”

“Yeah, and we should get Enjolras drunk so he can finally pull that stick out of his ass.”

“Please don’t. If it means staying sane, I’ll keep it, thank you very much.”

“Killjoy, now we definitely have to get you drunk.”

Enjolras sighs as Grantaire, Bahorel, and Feuilly continue to exchange comments about how his fate is in their hands as if he wasn’t right there listening in on how they planned on spiking his drink later at the Corinthe. Finally making it to the café, Enjolras starts conversation with Combeferre about the production before Musichetta leans over her boyfriends to make a large shushing motion at him. Considering how large of a diva she needs to summon in order to get into her role, the exaggerated motion nearly knocks Bossuet off his chair and whacks Joly in the face. Joly starts whimpering about how his nose could quite possibly be broken and Bossuet groans as the table hits him right back in the stomach when he swings back up to right himself. Enjolras rolls his eyes in fond exasperation and the rest of the meal passes without any other shocks. They do end up staying long into the afternoon until their loud group of nine nearly gets kicked out by a fed-up waiter, despite her being a huge fan or whatever.

Having nothing better to do for the rest of the day, the group separates and agrees to meet again later at the Corinthe. Enjolras and Combeferre leave the group and head in the direction of the Square d’Estienne-d’Orves, approximately two minutes from the rehearsal space. When they settle on a bench, Combeferre opens his mouth, “So, anything new happen in rehearsals that I don’t witness?”

“I feel like there is a double meaning to that which I should be at least somewhat worried about.”

Combeferre just smiles slightly in a wordless response. “Okay, I feel like I should be extremely concerned by what you are asking, but for the sake of my sanity, I’ll just pretend you meant exactly what you asked. My straightforward answer is no, for all intents and purposes, rehearsals with Grantaire have been efficient.”

Glasses glint in the late afternoon sunlight and this time, Combeferre does reply, “Ah, but I only asked about rehearsals without me. I mentioned nothing specifically about our dear opera ghost.”

Enjolras feels his cheeks grow a little warm and turns away in favor of locating the Corinthe. Combeferre chuckles slightly and _thankfully_ changes the subject. It’s not as if Enjolras feels embarrassed talking about Grantaire (they are friends after all), but he does not need to be reminded of Grantaire’s _nice_ voice and how much he downplays his own talent.

A few hours later, Enjolras and Combeferre are the last to arrive at the bar where they decided to meet up. The location’s somewhat sophisticated atmosphere relaxes Enjolras a bit because it would seem to be a lot harder for him to be tricked into drinking and revealing how much of a lightweight he actually is. Watered down alcohol is fine, but Enjolras has never had the opportunity to figure out what hard liquor does to him, being the straight-laced stick he is. The one time he decided to rebel against his parents and drink a single can of beer, the floor was the first thing he came into contact with and he passed out as quickly as his face smacked into the tiles.

Now as he warily eyes Grantaire and his friends, Enjolras decides to ask the person behind the bar for a glass of water. He raises the glass to his lips and sips, thinking that nothing could possibly go wrong with clear liquid. Only, it does taste a little bitter. _Oh well, maybe it’s just the crappy water they serve at bars? If I drink more, I’ll get used to the taste._ What he doesn’t notice is the way Grantaire’s staring at him with a tiny smirk and the way Feuilly and Bahorel grin at each other. Enjolras also doesn’t notice the wink the bartender gives them. He downs the rest of the glass and suddenly he’s faced with looks of absolute horror from all of them. Éponine’s the one to break the silence that took over the room. “Did he just-”

Cosette laughs out loud, “Oh jeez, Enj really doesn’t know what he got himself into does he?”

Enjolras just frowns and looks down into the glass when everything turns a little fuzzy. He glances up and sees Combeferre staring at him sympathetically. _’Ferre’s so nice. He is a really good friend to me and good friends deserve hugs._ Enjolras feels his face grow into a smile until his cheeks start to hurt. Then he walks over to Combeferre and promptly drops onto his back in a clumsy hug. _Ooh but Cosette and Éponine are so nice to me too… Éponine does talk a lot about sword fighting though, but I know she’d never stab anyone and make them bleed. They also deserve hugs!_ Enjolras releases Combeferre, to his great relief, and latches onto the arms of Éponine and Cosette. He rubs his cheek against Cosette’s sleeve and in turn, she pats Enjolras’s blonde curls, releasing a giggle. Éponine doesn’t accept his affection so well and yanks her arm out of his grasp, causing his smile to turn to a teary pout.

Enjolras huffs and decides his next victim. _I haven’t really talked to Joly or Bossuet, Musichetta plays a really whiny character, Bahorel and Feuilly look cuddly but they look too evil right now. Oh well…_ Enjolras makes his way over to their table and immediately falls into Feuilly’s lap with his head pillowed on Bahorel’s thighs. Feuilly smacks Enjolras’s belly half-heartedly and mutters, “I guess we deserve this.”

“Feuilly, your hair is sooooo orange. It’s like I’ll get burnt if I touch it. Can I touch it?” Enjolras reaches out a tentative finger and pokes Feuilly’s head. With a heavy sigh, Feuilly lets Enjolras prod his hair until he bores himself out and tugs on Bahorel’s long hair. “Ba… Bor… Borel, your hair’s so loooong. It’s always up in re… rearsal… I’m gonna pull it!”

This earns a yank and a wince of pain from Bahorel and from the other side of the table, snickers are heard. Enjolras doesn’t like it when people are laughed at and pouts, “Gran… Grant… R, you can’t laugh at people! Not even Borel when he’s in such pain! Look what you diiiid, now he’s hurt. All of my friends are so nice to meeeee. You are not nice to your friends,” Enjolras cocks his head, “But you are very nice to me, and nice people deserve huuuugs.”

Enjolras smiles happily and unceremoniously flops out of Feuilly’s and Bahorel’s laps onto the floor before reaching up towards Grantaire, “Up! I will give R the best hug!”

“I’m sure you don’t want to hug me, Apollo. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

“My name isn’t Apollo! It’s En… Enj… Enjy! And I would never embarrass myself by hugging the cuddliest person in this room!”

Said room falls dead silent before Enjolras drunkenly grins up at Grantaire and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s middle. Although he’s slightly taller, Enjolras has no trouble climbing onto Grantaire’s lap and just _sitting_ there, nuzzling his nose into a pale neck. Which suddenly turns flushed? “R, your neck is not a natural color! It’s not supposed to be that color, oh noooo. And your cheeks! You look like a tomato!”

Enjolras reaches out and pinches one of Grantaire’s cheeks while everyone looks on, trying to hold back laughter lest they incur the wrath of Enjolras’s adorable drunkenness. Noticing all the weird stares, Enjolras only tightens his grip around Grantaire’s waist and starts _showering praise on him_. “Out of everyone in this room, R is one of my favorite people. He calls me Apollo, but that’s only because of my hair. His voice is as pretty, no, prettier than any god of music’s. His eyes are pretty too! So blue, I could lose myself in them anyday. And R is so sweet, annoying sometimes, but very sweet. Also, did you know R does ballet? Feuilly told us! He has beautiful, muscular thiiiiighs…”

Enjolras pinches Grantaire’s thigh and somewhere across the table, a loud _“I TOLD YOU SO!”_ is heard. Many pairs of eyes are on Enjolras and Grantaire and they wait with bated breath to see what happens next. Enjolras pokes and nuzzles Grantaire’s cheek as it grows redder and redder. Enjolras practically coos, “Awwww, your face is soooo cuuuute~!”

Grantaire, having seemingly recovered from an impending panic attack, tries in vain to remove Enjolras’s iron grip from around his body. Of course that only forces Enjolras to close in even further and so they stay there for a long stretch of time. Everyone else returns to their own business while Bahorel and Feuilly don’t hesitate to laugh at Grantaire’s situation. Because Enjolras is comfortable on Grantaire’s lap, he doesn’t feel the need to tell them off. Grantaire grumbles, “I am not nearly drunk enough to deal with this crap right now. I need some hard liquor. Like right now. And that vodka? A horrible idea.”

“Don’t be like that, R! It’s all for some good fun, right E?”

“Mmmhmm. Also because R smells realllly goooood.”

More laughter. Enjolras finally slumps against Grantaire’s chest, tired and coming down from his hyperactivity. Combeferre walks over and manages to extricate Enjolras from Grantaire’s lap, to a sigh of relief, and proceeds to walk (read: stumble) out of the Corinthe. Enjolras mumbles, “I’m gonna give you my phone and I’m gonna give you my address so I can sleeeep.”

Enjolras basically falls into the soft, soft mattress and is just barely able to pull his pillow under his head and the covers over his body before passing out. _Have you asked of yourself what’s the price you might pay…_


	5. Of Costumes and Chandeliers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire gets tight pants...

Grantaire hurries down to the Théâtre Mogador for the first blocking and wandelprobe. As for last night, Grantaire hopes that Enjolras doesn’t have too big of a hangover because he’s a _lightweight, I would have never known. It’s probably best for me to forget everything that happened and act natural because it’s unlikely he’ll think much of it._ Grantaire shakes the thoughts away and proceeds to the entrance.

Pushing open the door to the theatre, Grantaire stifles a gasp at the brilliant set. He has been to the Théâtre Mogador a number of times, mostly to see Enjolras perform, but the red seats and shining decoration never fail to stun him. _Oh wow, this is going to be my theatre and I’m gonna perform on that stage. So beautiful…_ Grantaire takes in the stage and the props set for the first scene: the fallen chandelier, the dusty drapes, and the boxes with “various auction items”. Suddenly everything that happened in the past month seems extremely real. Gone were the days of flimsy high school productions and hastily put together musicals. _The Phantom of the Opera_ will blow all of that out of the water in the sewer system that The Phantom controls.

Grantaire makes his way backstage where a few members of the cast gather. He nods to Joly and Bossuet in greeting and awaits orders from Javert. As if he heard Grantaire’s internal thoughts, Director Javert appears on cue and announces, “As many of you know, today will be dedicated to getting to know the set made by Thénardier and his crew. This is a staging rehearsal, marking is allowed in order to emphasize dramatic action and characterization. Worry about the singing tomorrow during sitzprobe. That reminds me. The pit cover has been removed to allow for set additions. There is a net today but there won’t be tomorrow. If you happen to need to fall in the pit, do it today and fix it quickly. Also. When you aren’t required for the stage, go backstage where Claquesous will be waiting with your costume so you can try them on.”

As Grantaire doesn’t appear until Scene 3 and expects them to spend some time working out knots in the previous scenes, Grantaire squeezes between dancers and finds the dressing room with his name. He slips into the room and sees Claquesous holding the infamous mask; not a pathetic half mask, but one that is designed to cover nearly his entire face, only leaving his mouth and the bottom half of the right side of his face uncovered. To get the feeling of singing around a mask, he had a custom-made practice one that isn’t nearly as beautiful as the one Claquesous made. Grantaire feels a rush of excitement and almost cries upon seeing the rest of the costume. He hurries to the rack and runs his fingers up the sleek black waistcoat and the heavy cloak. _Gotta have that dramatic flair. Otherwise I’ll never be as flamboyant as I want,_ Grantaire thinks with a slight smile as he slips his hands into the black gloves. Claquesous eyes him critically and Grantaire would feel as if his privacy was a tiny bit invaded when he starts getting poked and prodded if he wasn’t a more experienced actor and he wasn’t more excited about this.

Around fifteen minutes and multiple costumes later, Grantaire is released to change out of the costume and return to the stage before “The Mirror”. He sees that the set has changed and the chandelier has been lifted and returned to all its splendid glory. Halfway through notes from Javert, Grantaire sees Enjolras and Cosette leave for the dressing rooms before turning his attention back on how he should be a little more “mysterious” and how Éponine should act a little more “modest and demure”. That earns a scoff from Éponine, and Grantaire tries not to snort because when he sees Éponine act that way outside of the theatre, he’ll believe Enjolras could pull that metaphorical stick out his ass. The company leaves for fittings and it’s only Grantaire and Éponine onstage for the next three scenes. 

Fog floats across the stage and the set for the underground labyrinth opens up. Grantaire and Éponine step into the remote-controlled boat, and Combeferre plays the opening chords of “The Phantom of the Opera” (the song, not the musical) in order to start the number. After Scene 6 ends, Éponine waves quickly to Grantaire and hurries to the back to get into her costumes before she has to return _again_. Grantaire stands in the wings as he watches Feuilly, Cosette, and Fantine in “Magical Lasso”. Somewhere between Cosette laughing with the other ballet girls and Fantine shaking her head exasperatedly, Grantaire realizes that he’s not alone and he quickly has to slap a hand over his mouth before he does something out of surprise. Enjolras, the sneaky bastard, had managed to keep his presence completely unknown even though he was waiting for the next scene _literally right next to_ Grantaire in the wings.

Javert finally lets Scene 7 out of his scrutinous examination and allows the musical to proceed. Grantaire listens and watches Joly and Bossuet exchange sung dialogue before Enjolras leaves his side to interject with Raoul’s lines. Grantaire stays hidden in the wings to sing his part in “Notes” _sotto voce_ to save for the more important numbers and speaks the directions to Joly and Bossuet in a louder voice. A few moments later when Musichetta accuses Enjolras of coming up with this fabulous trick, Grantaire smirks at Enjolras’s exasperated facial expression and sarcastic tone.

In “Prima Donna”, he has to forcefully hold back his laughter as Joly and Bossuet fall over themselves trying to get Musichetta to sing another opera. The song reaches counterpoint between Andre, Firmin, Carlotta, Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry while Grantaire impatiently awaits the end (not that he could ever tire of hearing Enjolras sing) when he gets to say some sassy lines and Enjolras gets to say some equally sassy lines but aimed at Grantaire this time. Javert actually claps at the end and proceeds with significantly less comments. The rest of Act I follows with Musichetta’s song and Enjolras and Éponine singing some sappy songs. Grantaire ends the act with, _“You will curse the day you did not do… All that The Phantom asked of you! Go!”_ and takes a reluctant bow to thunderous applause from whoever is in the audience.

Grantaire takes the opportunity to talk to Enjolras during their small break. “So. How’s the costume?”

“Stuffy. And ridiculous.”

“Well you know what they say. The French like their outfits like they like their music. Ornamented to hell and back.”

Grantaire witnesses Enjolras huff out a laugh and he grins, “I rather like my own. It’s a lot of black. And definitely not nearly as ornamented as yours.”

“Oh, just you wait for Act II. You’ll regret ever mocking me when you have to wear that _thing_ in ‘Masquerade’.”

“Like you have any room to talk, monsieur.”

“Ugh. Speaking of Act II, we’d better hurry back before Javert starts a temper tantrum.”

“A little excited for the sword fighting, are we?”

“Nope. Not one bit. Please shut your mouth before this friendship of ours unravels without even getting through Act II onstage.”

“Yes, Vicomte, my dear Vicomte,” Grantaire laughs, shuts his mouth accordingly, and runs away from Enjolras. He gets stopped on the way to get handed a belt with a prop sword attached and can’t help but to look back over his shoulder and throw a lascivious wink in the general direction of Enjolras. With a cue from Combeferre, the company starts “Masquerade” and all Grantaire can think about are all the frilly costumes and his own red monstrosity. He doesn’t even look good in red. Enjolras, however, always wears his red hoodie to rehearsals and somehow doesn’t look like a fashion disaster. But let’s be real, Enjolras could wear anything and still outshine the rest of them. It’s also totally unfair that he gets to wear black for this scene. (Sorry, black with _embellishments_.)

When Grantaire’s favorite moment arrives, everyone waits with bated breath. He schools his face into a mask (haha) of seriousness and draws his prop sword. He hears before he sees Enjolras draw his own sword out as well and it takes all the strength of Grantaire’s facial muscles to prevent his lips from twitching. And they clash swords… _however that phrase is taken is up to everyone else._ As the scene comes to a close, both Enjolras and Grantaire are panting (“from fighting, Jesus!”) and the two of them prepare themselves for 'Don Juan Triumphant' and Grantaire’s figurative ass-kicking while the stage changes from the cemetery to a stunning opera house. A few more sappy songs, a few more heart-wrenching Phantom moments, and a lot more of Grantaire’s melodrama later, the “runthrough” finally comes to a close. Thénardier says, “It looks like my set is as good as ever.”

Babet nudges him, “Oh sorry, did I say ‘my set’? I meant that Babet’s set design is truly marvelous. And the rest of you are brilliant, but the set brings the best out of everyone.”

That’s met with a collective eye roll. Javert sighs, “Sure, sure. Set design, incredible. Everyone’s got a chance to try on their costume, right?”

A chorus of “yes, Director” follows. Javert steps back, pleased. “Now, since we have another hour to solidify things, I’d like to make sure that nobody stumbles. In fact, if you have parts of your costumes that fit, get dressed for Act II Scene 1.”

One would assume that a company of professional actors and actresses would know better than to make a mad dash to the dressing rooms, but apparently, that is not the case. Grantaire elects to stay behind and hovers in the wings. Then he’s being pulled into the scramble and in the fray, he sees a tan, long-fingered hand latched onto his wrist. Fortunately, they make it to their dressing rooms relatively unscathed and Grantaire looks at Enjolras questioningly, “What.”

“We don’t have time to waste, idiot. And I kinda want to see your costume.”

“You mean that garish red thing.”

“Yes, whatever. Hurry up.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes and shuts the door. _Well. Time to strip._ For the sake of his eyes and his sanity, Grantaire chooses to ignore all the accessories and instead quickly dons the _puffy_ red coat and tight breeches. He looks down and sighs in despair over his tights. Not that he actually minds tights, he used to do _ballet, for God’s sake_. It’s just the entire bottom half of his outfit is pretty uncomfortable and the entire thing looks like it would prevent free movement. Grantaire would probably end up waddling like a penguin while descending down the staircase. _And why do the shoes have buckles?! What is this, 1700s Versailles? Whatever_, he thinks as he opens up his dressing room door. At almost the exact same time, Enjolras steps out in his black suit with the xylophone-patterned accents. Grantaire feels his mouth go a little dry, especially when Enjolras runs his fingers through his hair with a slightly embarrassed expression. _And oh, those PANTS._ Grantaire wonders if he’ll even make it through the rest of rehearsal with that beautiful, beautiful butt _right there_. Enjolras jerks his head towards Grantaire’s sleeves. “Nice coat. Very Italian Renaissance-esque.”

“This is so sad,” Grantaire laments, picking at his sleeves. “Why’s it have to be so _puffy_? And I don’t recall the pants having to be _this_ tight… ”

He hears a snort come from Enjolras, but what Grantaire doesn’t notice because he’s so focused on his coat is the way Enjolras’s eyes linger on his thighs. “Oh well, I’ll just ask Claquesous later. After you, Vicomte.”

Grantaire does survive, somehow, and as he re-enters his dressing room, he breathes a sigh of relief. Right away, he peels the red nightmare off his thighs and strips out of the tights. Undoing the buttons is like undoing a corset (not that Grantaire would have any experience) and he feels like he can breathe again. At once, Grantaire goes to see Claquesous about the tightness of the costume and gets a sketchy affirmative in return.

As he takes in the busy, late afternoon Parisian city, Grantaire thinks about his decision. _Auditioning was never a mistake. I don’t regret anything._ This is the most excitement he’s had since he resorted to alcohol, and Grantaire can’t wait for the sitzprobe happening the next two days. With the pit, everyone will sound positively amazing. It’s just not the same listening to a recording or practicing with only a pianist (sorry, ’Ferre) when they can perform it with a live orchestra. Also, Jehan will be there with his magnificent harp! He decides that if this is how these days are spent, let it continue this way, without the drinking problems and depression outside of the script. _Black, the dark of ages past..._


	6. Of Musicians and Massages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras has friends...

Enjolras cannot possibly sit still and wait until the rehearsal officially starts. Yesterday morning, he had nursed a massive headache and a glaring hole in his memory where the night before should’ve been. Therefore, rehearsal did not start nearly as well as he had hoped. Now, he’s back in the Théâtre Mogador staring down into the pit as if Courfeyrac would magically appear. Jehan’s massive pedal harp is already in the corner. _Now to locate one hyper Courf_ and when Enjolras blinks, Courfeyrac does seem to be a magician because there he is, already keeping a reed moist. Enjolras would pull him into a tight hug because they have not seen each other _for an extremely long time_, but the bassoon probably costs more than his entire salary. Instead he waits until Courfeyrac puts the instrument down safely onto his chair, takes the reed safely out of his mouth, finally notices Enjolras, and _safely_ climbs out of the pit.

“ENJY! I missed you!” Courfeyrac greets with a shining grin and his customary “squeeze the life out of you” hug. Enjolras hugs back with equal fervor; he isn’t nearly as touch-oriented as Courfeyrac but for him, Enjolras will make an exception. “Courf, it’s only been a few months. And now we get to spend even more time together.”

“Yeah, and ‘a few months’ is wayyy too long. We haven’t gotten to hang out recently or anything because you’ve been swamped with rehearsals. The pit doesn’t even rehearse as much as you guys do.”

“Don’t remind me… but from here on out, there is nothing that we won’t suffer together. I really don’t want to act ‘tenderly’ ever again. But for the sake of our musical, I have and will continue to sacrifice my dignity.”

Courfeyrac laughs, “And I’ll be watching all of it from the live feed in the pit. I’ll have to pay attention to the click track though, so your lovely singing will go mostly unheard. Anyway, I’m so glad I don’t have to play any auxiliary instruments, only bassoon for meee!”

“Well, that means you won’t have to hear me embarrass myself.”

“No, but when you and Grantaire pull out your swords, I will see _everything_,” Courfeyrac wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Enjolras and almost falls over, laughing at his deadpan. Enjolras groans, “Not you too. I get so much crap for that from the cast and now you? Ugh, life hates me.”

“COMBEFERRE!”

Enjolras raises his head when Courfeyrac gets distracted. He is pleasantly surprised that his best friend already knows Combeferre. Enjolras voices this aloud and gets a response, “Well, duh. ’Ferre and I are in the pit?”

When Combeferre makes it over to the edge of the pit, he’s holding his book with the score. “Hey, Enj, hey Courf. Excited for sitzprobe?”

“Yeah because the pit will sound amazing that will make us sound amazing.”

“You guys already sound amazing. I’ve been in pretty much all of your rehearsals.”

Courfeyrac winces visibly, “Wow, I feel bad for you. Having to go to twice as many rehearsals must suck.”

“It’s all good fun, getting to see the cast stumble and playing the music with the pit. Valjean’s pretty cool, don’t you think?”

Enjolras _definitely does not pout_ at Combeferre, “I hope I don’t stumble _that_ much.”

He gets a pat on the head and a response, “Hmm. Thankfully this rehearsal is only sit and sing. No chance of falling into the pit today.”

As if that is a cue, Javert suddenly appears and barks, “Everyone! Today is sitzprobe so find somewhere to sit in the audience. Only songs will be sung and we’re doing all of Act I before lunch. If you have to sing, make your way to the stage _ahead of time_ and wait patiently with a mic. Spoken lines are only necessary if they are for cues or in the songs. Otherwise, shut up, watch, and learn. If Valjean requires more rehearsing of numbers, do as he says. I’m taking a goddamn break for once.”

Javert dismisses the group and nods at Valjean to take over. In turn, Valjean turns to Combeferre and tells him to start tuning. Combeferre plays a tuning B-flat and the woodwinds join in, matching their pitches. He does the same for the brass and changes it to an A for the strings. Many people leave the stage including Joly, Bossuet, and a few others who have mostly spoken lines. Enjolras sits at the edge where he can watch the orchestra when he’s not doing anything. He notes that Grantaire is in the first row in the audience and tilts his head in greeting. 

From his spot, Enjolras sees Courfeyrac and Combeferre put in their earpieces and he gets a wink from the former. Valjean lifts his baton to cue the orchestra for the overture, and as what quite possibly could be considered a Pavlovian response, everyone in the pit snaps to attention. The theatre bursts to life at the first note and the acoustics, Enjolras notes, are incredible. Combeferre’s “organ” chords pierce the air and Enjolras can only listen, captivated, as the overture eventually transforms into Act I and the beginning of Musichetta’s solo. 

Right when he stands up, he sees Grantaire leave his seat in the audience. A microphone gets haphazardly shoved in Enjolras’s face and he fumbles with it for a second but eventually gets the wire untangled. Enjolras hovers near the edge before he joins in, _“Can it be? Can it be Christine?”_

Enjolras has to resist the urge to throw up a little inside his mouth at the rest of the sappy lines in this sappy song when all his character’s really doing is more or less ogling a childhood friend. But what he does really like is how nice the live accompaniment is. When his notes line up perfectly, a sort of ringing happens throughout the entire theatre. A few moments end up skipped when there isn’t any singing involved and Enjolras plops back down and sits cross-legged on the stage until Scene 3. In the prior scene, “Angel of Music” comes and goes, Grantaire standing to begin it with his three words before Éponine and Cosette take over. Cosette leaves the stage and grins at Enjolras when he stands up again. Éponine and Enjolras exchange some dialogue as a cue for the next song and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Valjean looking up and Enjolras takes a breath in an attempt to not screw his entrance up.

They skip some more stuff and the next thing Enjolras knows is that Grantaire has taken a seat next to him. Enjolras rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything when Grantaire stands up. He speaks some annoyingly dramatic lines and Éponine starts singing again. Enjolras rises to end the song and walks into the audience, taking a seat in the middle of the orchestra seating where he can see everything almost perfectly. The pit stops playing and Valjean calls out, “Prepare for ‘Phantom’.”

A hushed flurry of excited whispers floods the audience and Enjolras hears Combeferre play the opening. _The sound of the “organ” is very different from the acoustic piano Combeferre used during rehearsal,_ Enjolras notes. It’s brighter and sends chills down Enjolras’s spine. Staring at the stage, he catches sight of the delighted grin on Grantaire’s face. _Wow, it’s like his entire face lights up._ When Éponine finishes her verse and Grantaire starts, Enjolras has to do a double take because _holy shit he sounds amazing._ He feels his face flush steadily, especially when Grantaire turns to look _straight at Enjolras_, and the grin changes to a soft smile that definitely doesn’t make Enjolras feel funny or anything. Enjolras continues to listen, especially as the scene fades to Grantaire taking over the accompaniment on the prop organ and sings the bridge between “The Phantom of the Opera” and “Music of the Night”. When he reaches the fermata, Enjolras notices how Valjean has the pit at his attention. Grantaire starts singing as soon as Jehan plays the first chords on his harp. If Enjolras had been captivated by the music before, he feels as if he can’t stop listening now.

Grantaire shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and stands in the middle of the stage. He sings beautifully, in Enjolras’s humble opinion and at the chorus, he transitions his voice from “mysterious” to “rich and full of emotion”. His singing crescendos along with the strings and drops in dynamic to end the phrase, _“Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar…”_

At the high note, it seems that the entire theatre holds its breath. There isn't a doubt that chills were running down Enjolras’s spine and causing him to feel a little lightheaded. Oh boy, how is he going to survive during the actual show? The music comes to a close to thunderous applause and Grantaire bows a little, acknowledging his audience with an embarrassed smile and Enjolras thinks, _how cute._ Except, he refuses to think about anything else when he gathers himself from an emotional wreck. There’s more singing on both Éponine’s and Grantaire’s parts and Enjolras freaks out a little on how well Grantaire portrays an angry Phantom who basically damns Christine’s life to hell.

The rehearsal passes quickly during some songs and drags on during others. Enjolras pulls himself out of the comfortable chair in the audience and onto the stage before he sings in “Notes”. He looks into the pit and has to muffle a snicker at Courfeyrac’s reddening face when he plays his bassoon or Combeferre’s pained expressions of concentration as he squints at his sheets. Enjolras notices how Courfeyrac’s cellist friend, Marius, flushes when Cosette sings and how he glances towards the stage when she dances near. Enjolras rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything, thinking about how Marius is so hopelessly gone. Songs come and go, Enjolras stands up and sits down onstage, and Éponine wordlessly joins him when they sing their duets. He thinks he sounds better with the pit and glances into the audience towards Grantaire’s general direction. Enjolras believes he sees a thumbs up but chalks it up to his imagination. Grantaire takes his spot next to him to sing the reprise of “All I Ask of You”.

During the one hour break that Javert so generously gifted to them, Enjolras sees Éponine with two others who share some sort of resemblance to her. He recognizes them from the pit at some point, a boy (he must barely be out of his teens) with a pair of sticks in hand and a woman who must be younger than Éponine currently holding a French horn carefully tucked under an arm. Éponine walks over with the two of them in tow and introduces, “Gavroche, percussion. Azelma, horn. My siblings.”

“Oh, nice to meet you guys.”

Gavroche twirls a drumstick and squints at Enjolras, “Yeah, you too.”

Azelma’s face seems friendly enough as she sticks her hand out, “Nice to meet you too. I guess you could say I am a fan.”

Enjolras shakes her hand and decides that he likes her. Éponine certainly seems satisfied and yells, “Grantaire! Gav and ’Zelma are here!”

Grantaire speedwalks (because no running backstage, duh) over and wraps Gavroche in a tight hug. “Aww, look! You got so tall since graduating high school. You’re no longer the puny brat playing percussion in a high school orchestra, now you’re playing percussion in the pit for our show.”

“Ge’ off meh,” Gavroche grunts from where his face is getting smothered by Grantaire’s green hoodie. Azelma waves and smiles in greeting before getting similar treatment from him. Enjolras just stands awkwardly against the wall and watches as Grantaire detaches himself from Éponine’s siblings. Grantaire takes the spot against the wall next to where he’s situated and Enjolras stares straight ahead as he says, “You sounded nice.”

“Yeah, so did you.”

Enjolras finally breaks eye contact with the opposite wall to catch Grantaire fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. He sighs, “If you’d rather spend your break elsewhere, I won’t feel offended.”

Grantaire stares straight into his eyes, bright blue eyes widening, “No, no, it’s just… I rather like the company sometimes. There’s so much going on onstage and debating the ideals of this musical is fun, but just enjoying the quiet company of others is nice too.”

“Hmm, yeah. I agr-” Enjolras is about to speak when a blur of curly brown hair shoots over and practically wraps itself around him. Grantaire stiffens, either from apprehension or from concern, Enjolras doesn’t know. Grantaire visibly relaxes upon seeing Combeferre turn into the hallway of dressing rooms. Courfeyrac untangles himself from the slightly uncomfortable hug he gave Enjolras and suddenly straightens and disappears back from where he came. Combeferre explains, “He was excited to catch up some more apparently with his ‘best friend’ and forgot to put his reed in the water.”

Enjolras says fondly, “Classic Courf, forgetting something so simple, even as a professional bassoonist.”

Combeferre then turns to Grantaire and compliments him, “You sounded great, man. Nailed every note and I swear, the entire pit swooned a little when you sang ‘Music of the Night’.”

Enjolras witnesses the precious moment that is Grantaire smiling down at his Converse and blushing a little. Without his permission, Enjolras’s lips turn up in a smile as well. Thankfully, Combeferre groans, “Urgh. You’d think I’m used to ploughing through the entire freaking score of _Phantom_, but my hands feel like they’re cramping up. I’m not sure if it’s from today alone or the buildup of playing for every single rehearsal since a month ago.”

As if on cue, Courfeyrac returns, with the same fervor, and wordlessly takes Combeferre’s hands in his own, applying pressure in between his fingers. Enjolras can only stare in bewilderment as Combeferre gasps when Courfeyrac prods at an especially tense muscle. Enjolras immediately feels uncomfortable when Combeferre wraps his hand around Courfeyrac’s and draws him closer with the other. Enjolras definitely does not need to hear him say, “Your lips must be so sore from keeping that embouchure up for so long. I wonder if I can ease the stiffness a little,” while running his fingers against said stiff lips. He notices Grantaire looking just as uncomfortable as himself, if not more, and says, “Um, so I’m gonna take Grantaire with me back to the stage while you guys have your impromptu massage session?”

This goes unnoticed and Grantaire only shrugs when Enjolras looks over questioningly, “They’re your friends. Why would I know what’s going on?”

“They could be your friends as well, y’know. Clearly something happened during pit rehearsals that I’m not exactly sure I want to know about.”

Grantaire snorts, “Yeah, what with you looking down on romance and such. Kinda ironic considering your role and this entire musical. It’s like you’re some sort of angelic singing robot or something.”

“Shhh, don’t reveal my greatest secret! What would Javert do once he finds out that I’m an alien without any emotion!”

Enjolras catches Grantaire’s eyes, now swimming with mirth before the two of them burst out laughing. “Oh, jeez. I didn’t realize you had an ounce of humor in you,” Grantaire wheezes as he brushes fake tears away. Enjolras continues laughing so hard, he doesn’t notice Courfeyrac and Combeferre have returned from their, _ahem_, massage session. When Grantaire clears his throat, he waves at Enjolras and hurries off, probably looking for Éponine and her siblings or Joly and Bossuet. Courfeyrac hooks his arm through Enjolras’s and smirks at him, “Sooooo, did I just miss Pretty Boy? It looked like you finally had some fuuuuuun.”

Enjolras scoffs, “Conforming to societal standards of what should be considered ‘pretty’ goes against all of my values, Courf. You of all people should know that. Besides, I needed to get away from you two before I became a voyeur.”

Enjolras smacks his hand against his forehead when Coufeyrac’s grip slackens and Combeferre takes his glasses off to wipe away the nonexistent fingerprints. He remarks in a deadpan, “Wow, so tell me all about what happened during pit rehearsals. Skip the details you know I wouldn’t want to hear, though.”

Courfeyrac enthusiastically answers, obviously not leaving out any details, “So ’Ferre and I had our first pit rehearsal, right? Well, I look back at all the freaking equipment, and I nearly trip over the cord because wow what a handsome man. And he has _nice hands_.”

Combeferre coughs a little and blushes. “I play piano.”

“Yeah, duh. And so I wondered what those hands would look like-”

Enjolras pointedly clears his throat, “Okaaay. Abort, abort. No time for your weird fantasies, Courf.”

The _friendly_ atmosphere returns and Courfeyrac chatters on about how he and Combeferre started hanging out because he’s just such a great person. Enjolras must zone out at some point and he feels his eyes glazing over. Combeferre pokes his arm and the three of them exit the theatre to grab food. For the next hour, Courfeyrac narrates all of Enjolras’s embarrassing moments through his life to Combeferre. Enjolras spends more time with his head planted firmly against the table, refusing to look either of them in the eye than actually participating in their conversation. “-and this one fan. I don’t think Enjy really knows how popular he is amongst the ladies. He minds his own business, walking down the streets of Paris oblivious of how heads turn to stare at him and how girls giggle and ogle his butt when he marches righteously past.”

“I’m gay. And I don’t _march_.”

“Sorry, you _stride righteously past_. And yeah, we know.”

“I don’t _stride righteously_ either, Courf. I also hate gossip.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Taking drama throughout all of middle school and high school but staying unaware of the drama that surrounds you.”

“I’d prefer it stays that way.”

Combeferre hums as he takes in all of this as Enjolras’s head gradually becomes more buried in his arms. He adds, “I also don’t like that nickname.”

Courfeyrac laughs, “Really? From what I’ve heard, you referred to yourself as ‘Enjy’. I mean, I’ve always called you that since we met but you’ve never complained.”

Enjolras levels a weak glare at Combeferre, “This wasn’t when I was drunk, was it?”

“WHOA, ENJY! You got drunk? When?”

“None of your business.”

Enjolras feels Courfeyrac reach around the table and slip a ‘casual’ arm around his shoulders. Of course, he has to question it, “Now, now, Enjy. Is that how to treat ol’ Courfeyrac? Combeferre didn’t tell me the rest of the story.”

“Well, I don’t remember. And he’d find it in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras catches Combeferre mime a zipping motion, but not before the wink he throws Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac squeals, _right in Enjolras’s ear damn it_, and the evil grin tells Enjolras that he will find out, eventually. _Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer… _


	7. Of Embarrassment and Effeminacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire dances...

After two days of sitzprobe, a lot of water, even more singing, and plenty of cracked notes, Grantaire lies on the couch with his face pressed into a pillow. He mumbles into the pillow, “I am agog, I am aghast. Has the weekend decided to come at last?”

It took a lot of effort for Grantaire to drag himself out of bed and to smell the coffee to awaken properly. But the caffeine apparently does not work, as he’s currently trying to smother himself back asleep. Grantaire’s phone on the table lights up with a text from Joly and Bossuet asking if they can come over. He gropes blindly on the coffee table for his phone and unlocks it to shoot a text back that, yes, they can come over and join him in his moping. 

A few moments later, the pounding on the door forces Grantaire to actually get dressed in jeans and a hoodie and answer said door. Not only Joly and Bossuet tumble in. Musichetta picks her boyfriends up from Grantaire’s threshold and strides confidently into his living room. Not moments later, Grantaire’s phone lights up again, this time a text from Éponine. Grantaire grumbles as he types, “Yeah, go ahead. On the _weekend_, it seems as if everyone wants to torture me.”

In the end, Grantaire relents and allows whoever feels like it to spend the day rolling around in his apartment. He isn’t surprised to hear Éponine’s knock later on, but he is surprised to see both Marius and Cosette in tow. Grantaire knows about Éponine’s former crush on Marius from their high school days. He actually had never met Marius until sitzprobe, and man, he is giving Grantaire a headache. The poor lovesick boy spends any time he could staring at Cosette when his cello didn’t need his attention. Grantaire dismisses them to pile on top of where Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are cuddling on his couch.

Apparently, Éponine had taken the liberty to demolish Grantaire’s anti-socializing habits and a few moments later Grantaire opens the door again for the rest of their group to pile in. “Wow. Looks like none of you really want me to take a break. Apollo, happy to see you outside of rehearsals. You too, ’Ferre. Bahorel and Feuilly, I know you’re out there somewhere! Courfeyrac, I’ve only met you briefly and in that small amount of time, you were, um, occupied, so uhh… and Jehan, this is…”

Grantaire trails off, seeing Jehan hug Enjolras in greeting. Noticing Grantaire’s expression of confusion, Jehan smiles. “I played in the pit for Enjolras’s _The Sound of Music_ production. Bahorel and Feuilly live next door and invited me to this lovely get-together? Oh! But for those of you who don’t know me, hi, my name’s Jehan. Or Prouvaire. But please, please don’t call me Jean. I don’t know what my mother was thinking but it’s just really awkward having the same name as our conductor and probably half of France’s population.”

Éponine and Cosette greet Jehan wholeheartedly. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta wave cheerfully. Grantaire sighs, “Honestly, I’m not even sure why everyone wants to be in my messy apartment when they could be sleeping at home.”

Shrugs all around. Bahorel hangs an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “R, we needed an excuse to see you outside of vocal warm-ups and stretches. Éponine sent a text to me to embarrass you in front of the others because you’re too well-loved in the company.”

Grantaire, at that moment, is cursing his pale skin to hell and back because he can feel a blush blooming from Bahorel’s words. “The company doesn’t love me. And I need a few drinks to tolerate your version of ‘embarrassment’.”

Feuilly interjects, “Operation Make R Feel the Love is a go.”

“Oh no, not you too.”

Courfeyrac pipes up, “Actually, all of us. I’ve heard some wonderful, wonderful things from Enjy and I’m eager to find out how much truth his words hold.”

That’s met with a lot of denial from both Enjolras and Grantaire. Somewhere in the pile on the couch, Joly yells, “R was such a cute teenager. He got flustered every time someone talked to him. R was a little strange, though, taking over our conversations with many anecdotes but clamming up when approached by pretty people. Then, he started theatre and became the lovable dork he is.”

Grantaire takes that moment to flee from _his own living room_. Before he can slam his bedroom door shut, Bahorel jams the door with his foot and picks him up, bringing him back to his unfortunate fate. Even though Grantaire spars with Bahorel whenever they can, he’s not strong enough to get out of Bahorel’s grip. He wonders why he quit ballet when he could have gained muscles to lift others instead. Speaking of ballet, Bahorel drops Grantaire on the carpet next to Enjolras and proceeds to talk all about their days in training. “Did you guys know that R used to do stuff outside of musical theatre?”

Enjolras makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like _thighs_ but Grantaire tries to dismiss it as his imagination. Operative word being “tries”. Sadly, he doesn’t get the opportunity because Courfeyrac takes it upon himself to grope his legs. “As firm as steel,” he confirms and Combeferre lets out an amused hum from Courfeyrac’s other side. Grantaire is left to nurse what’s left of his dignity by burying his face in his hands. Bossuet picks up Operation Make R Feel the Love by adding, “R’s voice as a preteen was nowhere as beautiful and deep as it is now. He was _such_ a sweet and cherubic choir boy! I swear, he once could hit notes that girls would be envious of. Of course, this all changed when puberty hit and his lovely voice dropped actual octaves.”

“My voice is not beautiful. Never was.”

“Yeahhhh, the company would say otherwise.”

Joly nods in agreement, “Everyone almost got nosebleeds during sitzprobe. Thankfully they didn’t because it would be extremely unsanitary. In fact, you should sing something like right now so all of us can appreciate the glory that is your voice.”

“Hmm, how about no.”

Enjolras comes to Grantaire’s defense for once, “It is a little mean to put him on the spot when he should be nursing his voice for the show.”

Musichetta grins, “That’s not a problem. Let’s sing with him.”

Grantaire looks around his living room at the clear lack of instruments and raises an eyebrow in question. Musichetta adds, “A capella.”

That is met with a few groans and a few sounds of excitement, namely from Cosette and Courfeyrac. Marius meekly pipes up, “Um, I’m pretty sure I chose cello for a reason.”

Cosette pats his shoulder encouragingly and Marius immediately brightens. Enjolras asks, “So which song?”

Grantaire looks at him despairingly and has a betrayed expression on his face as he groans, “Not you too, Apollo.”

“Enjolras, and it could be fun.”

“What? Apollo thinks something can be fun? The stars have aligned!”

Courfeyrac glances between the two of them, “Why does R call you Apollo, Enjy?”

Grantaire takes the chance to stall, “Maybe because he shines so brightly onstage. Maybe it’s his hair and or it’s the way he sings as if he’s the god of music, himself. Or maybe it’s the way he glared at me when we first met that pretty much screamed ‘righteous deity exacting revenge on poor, unsuspecting mortal’.”

“Oooh, I like that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t. I’ve dealt with you calling me ‘Enjy’ for a greater part of my life. And I’m not that scary.”

Grantaire snorts, “Sure, whatever. Behind the scowls and huffy personality, you’re actually a soft-hearted and fuzzy dandelion.”

Musichetta interrupts, “Forget a capella _Phantom_, I want these two to sing a duet.”

A chorus (haha) of “oohs” and what sounds like relief from Marius make Grantaire’s ears turn bright pink. “I’m pretty sure Apollo wouldn’t want my horrible voice defiling his own.”

“R, stop trying to get out of this. We’re trying our hardest to embarrass you.”

“If you guys think my voice is so great, that’s hardly embarrassing, is it?”

“Maybe for others, but we all know how well you deal with compliments,” Musichetta winks at Enjolras who looks extremely confused. 

“And Apollo, I don’t hear you complaining. Does that mean you actually want to succumb to this embarrassment?”

“Who knows, it could be fun. We don’t have any songs in _Phantom_ involving only the two of us, no offense, Éponine. It would have been great, though, if Andrew Lloyd Webber included one.”

Éponine snorts, “None taken. If you really wanted a duet, why don’t you sing my role instead? Good luck reaching the notes though.”

Musichetta looks as if she’s contemplating, “Enjolras, Jehan mentioned you were in the production of _The Sound of Music_ a while ago right?”

“Yeah. My character was horribly sexist, though, so I had to suffer a little. I don’t even know why I got cast as that stupid Nazi boy.”

“Well, for your brilliant duet, R can take it an octave down and be the Liesl to your Rolf.”

Grantaire groans, “This is getting out of hand. The only songs I’ve had in my head are from our own show.”

Bahorel pounds him on the back, “Don’t think you’re gonna fool anyone. We all know you came out of your hole to watch his show. You couldn’t stop singing literally all the songs for weeks.”

Jehan takes his phone out and the music for “Sixteen Going On Seventeen” floats through the apartment. Grantaire rolls his eyes and listens in amusement as Enjolras mockingly sings the part of a teenage boy and calls Grantaire a “little girl” in the first verse. He stands up as Enjolras continues his part and Grantaire almost laughs at his deadpan expression when he sings, _“Eager young lads and bruees and cads will offer you food and wine… ” _

Enjolras finishes and Grantaire picks up and sings it as sickeningly sweet as possible, fluttering his eyelashes and making his tenor as “innocent” as possible. He and Enjolras share a grin and as if on the same wavelength, Grantaire takes Enjolras’s proffered arm, and they skip around the couch and TV as Grantaire attempts to pull Enjolras into some snazzy waltz moves. Which, ultimately, must be a bad decision on his part because Enjolras is taller, maybe by an inch or two, and therefore makes for a horrible partner even without the showy lifts and stuff. It helps when Enjolras shifts his arms and leads instead, to the cheers of the group.

Instead of the cheesy kiss that should follow, they sort of awkwardly shake hands and sit down, faces rapidly changing colors. Courfeyrac is especially loud in his cheers, “BRAVO, BRAVO!”

Grantaire mumbles, “Not exactly what I had in mind when I wanted a day off.”

Bahorel not-so-discreetly whispers to Feuilly, “That’s gayyyy.”

Grantaire punches Bahorel’s arm, “We’re here and we’re queer.”

“As shown by your fabulous display. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Nah, Apollo sounded great. I just dragged us down.”

Bahorel pulls Grantaire into a headlock, ruffling his hair into a poofier mess. Grantaire yelps and relents, “Ok ok, I was good too. But I’m merely the satyr, Marsyas, who doesn’t stand a chance against Apollo.”

“Oh, stop with your references.”

Grantaire notices Enjolras frowning and he says, “R, you should stop being so self-deprecating. There’s a reason you were chosen for The Phantom and I’m pretty sure everyone here agrees with me.”

“Sure, because my face is deformed enough.”

It’s as if everyone rehearsed when they all yell, “That’s a lie!” in perfect unison. Enjolras frowns even deeper and says, “R, you have a lovely face. And a lovely voice. That’s final. Debate. Closed.”

Grantaire’s face, which had just returned to its natural color, reddens again. He buries his face in his hands and doesn’t register that Enjolras had turned equally as red. Courfeyrac laughs, “Oh my God, R. Your face is almost the exact shade of my instrument.”

“Oh, very funny, Courf.”

Courfeyrac turns, “Yours too, Enjy.”

“Shut up.”

Eventually, the conversation melts from embarrassing Grantaire to funny anecdotes about their fellow production members. To get back at Musichetta, Grantaire decides bring up a memory. “Hey, ’Chetta, want me to tell everyone the story about how you got your two wonderful boyfriends?”

“Sure, why not. Nothing I’m ashamed of.”

“Haha, we’ll see…”

Joly quickly turns bright red and Bossuet stares up at the ceiling. Musichetta smirks smugly, almost like a cat who had gotten the canary, or in this case, a woman who had gotten two boyfriends. Bahorel grins and Grantaire takes that as an invitation to continue, “So, after we all graduated high school, I traveled to Bordeaux to get situated for the next year. Apparently, Bahorel met Joly at the bar he worked at and Joly, being all drunk, started talking about how he wished he confessed his undying love or some shit to Bossuet before graduation.”

Bossuet takes his eyes off the ceiling to grin at Joly, “You love me?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s cute.”

Grantaire continues, “Anyway, ’Chetta over here happened to work at the very same bar and overheard their conversation. Apparently she already had a small crush on Joly, but her adventurous and polyamorous soul decided she would not be opposed to meeting this Bossuet as well. Blah blah blah, stuff happened, and Bahorel was a downright genius in giving Joly some _tight_ leather pants the next day, because Joly invited both of them to dinner which they accepted. The end.”

Musichetta huffs, “You summarized like a month of pining in a nutshell too small for this diva.”

“Save it for the stage, dear.”

Funny anecdotes eventually faded to discussing common interests because spending so much time in rehearsal does not leave much opportunity to discuss hobbies and the like. Feuilly strikes up a new topic, “Y’know, if Enjolras went to Hogwarts, he would totally be in Slytherin or Gryffindor.”

Courfeyrac clearly disagrees, “Actually, Hufflepuff, with me. Because he’s so fluffy!”

A smack is heard as Enjolras brings his hand hard against his forehead, “Not this again. You’re so immature sometimes, Courf. That’s a stupid way of forcing people to conform to a certain aspect of their personality.”

Courfeyrac pouts, “Boo. You’re no fun, Enjy.”

“Well apparently I’ve got this stick up my ass, so I have to live up to my reputation.”

Grantaire sighs in defeat because, of course, Enjolras would go challenging the mere concept of Hogwarts houses and start ranting about its consequences on society. He does grin at the mention of The Stick Up Enjolras’s Ass from Apollo himself. Grantaire adds, “Um, if anyone has to know, I’d totally be in both. Mainly because _green_ and I like hugs.”

Jehan smiles at him and coos, “Aww, that’s cute. Ooh, don’t forget. You’ve gotta perfect that Draco Malfoy slicked back hair for Act I.”

“Damn it. I really wonder how much gel is gonna go to waste this season.”

Éponine speaks up, “Well you can wonder in the dressing room. Now, we play board games.”

The hours pass and everyone skips lunch in favor of lounging around Grantaire’s living room. Grantaire gets to witness the godly sight of Enjolras taking his hair out of the ponytail and seeing it curled up around his face. Éponine, Cosette, and Marius hang around to catch up. More than once, Grantaire finds himself humming songs from various productions of Enjolras’s he’s seen and stops before anyone gives him _the look_. Courfeyrac and Combeferre disappear into his kitchen at some point, causing Grantaire to mumble, “I hope they’re having a conversation and not doing anything else.”

Enjolras pipes up, “I’m hungry. Do you have any food in your kitchen?”

Grantaire nods, “I don’t feel like cooking, though.”

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta scramble to stand and crowd into his kitchen. Grantaire yells at their backs, “Don’t let Bossuet near the knives! Joly will get a heart attack!”

Éponine opens the pantry and digs out a pile of paper plates and plastic utensils. Enjolras wrinkles his nose at the plastic but doesn’t comment. Feuilly and Jehan hang around and pick through Grantaire’s collection of DVDs. Feuilly remarks, “R, the only movies you have are musicals or Disney. So literally just musicals.”

Courfeyrac pokes his head out of the kitchen and says, “Feuilly, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. That sounds like the dream collection.”

Grantaire burrows further into his couch cushion and listens to Courfeyrac join in on their crusade to find adequate entertainment. Their crusade apparently doesn’t last long as Courfeyrac lets out a triumphant “Aha!” and Grantaire lifts his face to see him lift up a copy of _Mulan_ like it’s Simba. From his place next to Grantaire, Enjolras brightens immediately and gives a noise of affirmation. Grantaire rolls his eyes, “Of course you’d be all for a movie about a girl who crossdresses and defies every gender stereotype, Apollo. But yeah, good choice.”

Musichetta comes out of the kitchen to hand everyone a plate of salad because, _sigh_, they’re actors. Grantaire stabs his rabbit food and thinks, _why do I need to keep abs when I’m literally gonna be dressed in a full suit like the entire show?_ Enjolras, on the other hand, downs his with gusto because, _of course_, he’s a complete health nut and needs to have abs for those limpy shirt scenes (read: _the sword fight_). Jehan starts the movie and everyone obviously ignores their food to sing along to “I’ll Make a Man Out of You”. Grantaire hears Enjolras start to say, “This song may seem se-” before he shoves a pillow in his face. “We can talk about sexism in China and _Mulan_ later.”

In the dark, Grantaire sees Enjolras cross his arms and pout. Grantaire hesitantly pats his fluffy hair and Enjolras makes a sound that might be happy? Grantaire yawns and watches the rest of the movie pass and smiles a little when Enjolras stands up suddenly to make some angry noises at Shang when he almost killed Mulan after she exposed her gender. Throughout the movie, everyone else on the couch eventually melts onto the floor and Grantaire throws himself down onto his almost vacant couch. That’s how he ends up curled into a ball as Mulan saves China and everyone cheers. Feuilly gets up with a groan to turn the TV off and Grantaire sees that everyone has piled up somewhere on the floor.

Grantaire feels a dip on the opposite side of the couch and looks up to notice that Enjolras is curled up in a similar ball. Before long, Grantaire hears tiny snores coming from the sleepy ball and he literally turns to mush inside because this is _Enjolras_ with all the metaphorical shields down. Although, all he sees is a fluffy cloud of blonde hair on one of his beloved cushions, Grantaire’s not going to act surprised or deny that Enjolras’s expression would look angelic when relaxed. Hell, even when he scolds Grantaire for messing his lines up, he looks angelic. Suddenly, Enjolras turns around, exposing his face to the ceiling, and _oh_. As a result, Grantaire simply hugs his own pillow closer and lets sleep take over. _You are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night… _


	8. Of Couches and Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras wakes up...

Enjolras hums sleepily and squints at the gentle sunlight streaming through Grantaire’s living room window. _Wait a moment_, last he checked, Enjolras had fallen asleep on the side of the couch facing _away_ from the window. Now, he stares at the tiny kittens on Grantaire’s sheer curtains and registers a sort of heavy weight on his torso. Whatever had happened the night before flies out of the window when aforementioned heavy weight decides to _wrap arms_ around Enjolras’s chest and _snuggle_ against him. Taking a deep breath, Enjolras finally looks down and _oh yep, that would be R’s fluffy, brown hair. Nice. And oh, his sleeping face is pretty adorable. He’s just like the kittens on his curtains._

Acknowledging the fact that he’s probably not getting up anytime soon, Enjolras simply lies back against the really comfortable couch and smiles sheepishly at Courfeyrac when he tilts his head questioningly. Enjolras’s eyes widen comically when Courfeyrac takes out his phone. The expression of surprise turns into a deadpan when the dreaded picture is taken. He whispers, “Delete that.”

“Not a chance, it’s blackmail material. And don’t wake R up. He needs the sleep.”

From somewhere within the pile on the floor, a yawn is heard and a pair of arms rise in a stretch. “Good morning,” Cosette’s voice says, “Ohhhh, that’s so cute.”

Obviously Courfeyrac had made his way over and had shown her the picture. He whispers, “Shhh, don’t wake R.”

“Sorry, sorry. Marius, wake up! You need to see this!”

“Hmm. Oh that _is_ cute. Enjolras, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost, though.”

“That would be my state of surprise at Courf’s betrayal.”

“Lies. I know you want the pic for yourself,” Courfeyrac snickers and proceeds to type furiously on his phone. Not two seconds later, the screens of most phones lying around the room light up. Feuilly and Bahorel wake up from the vibrations and blink sleepily before cooing at the picture. Bahorel snorts, “Enj, your bedhead is honestly enviable. You guys look so fluffy.”

Feuilly hums in agreement and turns to the body next to him, “Jehan, you need to see this.”

Jehan yawns, “What? Oh my God, _Enjolras_. How did this happen?”

“I honestly have no idea. I was on the opposite side of the couch before I fell asleep so I must have wormed my way over or R dragged me to be used as his pillow. Either way, I’m glad he’s finally getting some rest.”

“Sure, my rest might be important, but what about yours?”

“Oh, good morning.”

“Jeez, why didn’t you wake me earlier? I must have made your chest go numb or something else that should be impossible.”

“Uh, so that being said, I’d kinda like to get off the couch now if you don’t mind. Oh speaking of, this is a _really_ comfortable couch.”

“I know right? Éponine found it a few years ago and I sort of adopted it.”

Joly, having just woken up, slurs, “You guys are the weirdest. Normally people would be freaking out if they ended up cuddling on a squishy couch overnight.”

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, “No comment.”

“I second that. You make a really nice and warm pillow, by the way.”

“Thank you. You make a really nice and warm blanket?”

Musichetta sounds surprised when she adds, “Did we break you guys yesterday? Or did we make you immune to embarrassment? Because I can’t be the only one feeling a little shocked.”

Enjolras replies, “I have no idea. Breakfast?”

A chorus of “yes” and “please” fill the living room. Grantaire announces, “You guys can use my bathroom if you don’t need to be anywhere anytime soon. Also if you’re comfortable using my shower or you feel absolutely disgusting like I do. There are extra linens in the closet somewhere. They kind of replaced me when I came out, heh.”

Enjolras gets a nod of approval from Grantaire and walks into the kitchen. He starts throwing random things together into the pan and creates something vaguely edible. Incredible. Enjolras isn’t a bad cook at all, if he says so himself, so everyone seems satisfied. _Yay, breakfast._ Then, Grantaire walks out the bathroom, with _wet hair, can I run my fingers through it?_ Éponine disrupts Enjolras’s rapidly degrading train of thought, “So, it’s Sunday, but do we have anything planned?”

Musichetta shrugs, “Oh yeah. Javert wanted us to do publicity stuff for the show. Not that we really need to, anyway, but I wonder if he realizes that he’s basically making us do glorified busking? We could collect money for charities, I don’t know, but it’d be fun to spend the afternoon singing for those who can’t make it to our show. We could go to Jardin des Tuileries and have our little session there.”

Éponine nods, “Yeah, okay. I need to go back to my place to make sure my siblings haven’t made a complete wreck out of my place but I’ll meet you guys there at 13:00?”

Combeferre says, “Yeah, go ahead. I also need to get out of here to pack up my stuff.”

Bahorel adds, “And I’ll help you with the rest of the equipment. That amp will not be easy.”

Combeferre gives him a grateful smile and Courfeyrac offers to drive both of them back to his place. Those remaining help restore Grantaire’s living room back to its former glory. Enjolras isn’t quite sure what he should do without getting in anyone’s way, so he makes up an excuse that he has to feed his cat and runs out of the apartment, slightly red and breathless. _Now, to take a much-desired shower._

After feeding his imaginary cat, Enjolras lets the scalding water wash away the embarrassment that took place yesterday up to a few hours ago. Admittedly, the whole thing was quite fun and the only thing he regretted was not knowing Grantaire any better in the first place. With the sheer amount of time they spend together every day, Enjolras should know him better outside of debating their clashing views on societal norms and singing stupid love songs in _Phantom_. He re-evaluates how cold of a front he had put on when they first met and wishes that they could have started out on better terms.

Having caught up with the daily news, Enjolras leaves his cozy flat and starts the casual twenty-minute stroll to the garden. He arrives early, around 12:45, and waits until Courfeyrac arrives with Combeferre and Bahorel. Enjolras helps them set up the keyboard and all its necessary accessories (read: a heck ton of cords plus one really heavy amp). Bahorel pulls out a few mic sets from seemingly out of nowhere and hands one to Enjolras. 

Slowly but surely, the others trickle in. Feuilly produces a giant standing banner also seemingly out of nowhere and sets it up close to the lawn. _Yikes, those headshots._ Then, he and Bahorel take a spot on the grass a few feet away from Combeferre’s setup. Courfeyrac, Marius, and Jehan sit on a nearby bench to listen patiently as Combeferre leads the cast members through vocal warm-ups. A few civilians turn their heads and walk away but others must recognize them if their frantic sleeve-pulling and pointing was any indication. There are a few “Is that Enjolras?” and “Hey, I think I know these people from somewhere” until they finally notice the _giant poster_.

By the time Combeferre finally plays the opening, a small crowd had gathered, mostly composed of, to Enjolras’s great annoyance, his fans. He mutters to Grantaire, “I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Hmm, yeah same. Can’t imagine that Apollo would settle for anything less, though.”

Enjolras snorts and is about to make a sassy retort when he’s nudged by Feuilly, “Oi, we’re only gonna do the major numbers so once Combeferre finishes, you’re up.”

“With my barely important part, sure. But okay.”

Enjolras hooks the speaker to his jeans and raises the mic up to his lips. At that point, their donation jar was pretty much stuffed with euro notes and the only people who had sung were Éponine and Cosette. Jehan helpfully sets another jar on the amp and Enjolras rolls his eyes when a group of girls giggle and shyly stuff bills into the jar when he starts singing. When Grantaire starts his part, the same group whisper amongst themselves, “Hey, who’s that? He’s pretty cute… is he straight?”

Enjolras looks over and lays a (hopefully) comforting arm over Grantaire’s shoulders when his face turns red and his expression turns a little strained. “Just ignore them. Fangirls are… annoying sometimes, but they really cross the line when they start invading others’ privacy.”

Grantaire only shoots him a grateful look without stopping his performance. Soon enough, they’re joined by Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Cosette so that Musichetta can act all diva-like and everything. After each song, their audience claps and cheers. Enjolras fixes a charming smile on his face (for charity) and takes a bow when appropriate. He gladly signs a few autographs and watches as Éponine does the same, what with her also having a somewhat extensive following. In his peripherals, Enjolras notices Grantaire speaking with a few people and smiles internally because _he deserves all the positive recognition he gets_. Another hour is taken up with the songs from Act II and Éponine sings a powerful duet with Grantaire in “The Point of No Return”. At the end, Joly makes an impromptu announcement about how everyone should go see the show, how the money’s going to be donated to various charities, and how the actors are going to sing more songs and the audience should stay and listen if they like, blah blah blah. Enjolras had zoned out immediately after “charities” and his head snaps up in question because _what are they going to sing again?_

Some of the crowd disperses with plenty of apologetic and wistful looks. The rest wait in anticipation and Enjolras shrugs. He says, “Any requests?”

A female voice in the audience shouts, “I want you two to sing a duet! From any musical!”

Enjolras can only assume who she’s talking about and his guess must be spot on. He thinks, _are you kidding me? What’s with people and duets? Honestly, how predictable these days._

He makes eye contact with Grantaire and gives Combeferre a miniscule nod. “Sixteen Going On Seventeen” starts playing again and this time, Enjolras doesn’t hesitate to get better into character. This time, Grantaire doesn’t even hold back on the whole “shy girl thing” going on, pressing close to Enjolras while singing, _“Totally unprepared am I, to face the world of men.”_

Enjolras contemplates how the song could quickly give off “coming-of-age” vibes instead of “damsel-in-distress” vibes and decides it sits better with him that way. During the instrumental interlude, he doesn’t hesitate to spin Grantaire through a waltz. Enjolras lifts one of Grantaire’s hands and brushes his lips across his knuckles because, _yes, he can be freaking charismatic in front of an audience._ Said audience clearly enjoys it, if the hollers and whistles are any indication. Enjolras loses himself a little in Grantaire’s bright, bright grin and fails to notice his bright, bright ears.

Eventually, Combeferre joins Courfeyrac on the bench and the rest of the cast members join Enjolras and Grantaire in amazingly harmonized a capella covers of songs from different musicals. By the time the sun makes its way to the east, everyone had sprawled on the lawn just staring into space and they had a large amount of cash for donations. The pit members are the first to get up and one by one, they pull everyone else to their feet. Marius comments offhandedly, “Successful day. Kinda wish I brought my instrument and contributed a little more.”

Courfeyrac elbows him, “Like there are any empty chairs lying around for us.”

Jehan raises a shoulder, “I don’t regret anything. For once, I didn’t have to sit for multiple hours playing, I don’t know, Canon in D for people to get married.”

Marius groans, “Oh gross. Don’t ever bring that godforsaken memory up again.”

Enjolras glances up from his sitting position, “I wonder how this conversation took such a turn?”

Courfeyrac gestures toward Jehan, “So as a harpist, Jehan’s had to play many gigs before he got the job at Théâtre Mogador, most of which were weddings. Unfortunately, most people of our generation are more or less uncivilized in their taste in music. So poor Jehan was stuck playing four hours’ worth of Pachelbel.”

“The cello part has the same chords. Repeated too many times. I despise it. That's all ok bye.”

Enjolras blinks, slightly surprised at the random onslaught of information. “Um, okay. Good to know. If I ever decide to get married, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Off to the side, Grantaire nearly chokes on his water. “That was really random. Everything that was just mentioned from all of you.”

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta stand up to leave and Feuilly snaps up the poster. Bahorel helps Combeferre load his equipment back into Courfeyrac’s car. Éponine stretches and yawns, “Well, that was fun. I’ll see you guys at dress tomorrow?”

A few offhand farewells echo back. Enjolras hops to his feet and offers to run the cash to the nearest donation station. He gets waves and hugs before he stumbles out of the garden and into the busy Parisian streets. At around 19:00, Enjolras finishes his business and heads back in the direction of his apartment, deciding to save time and take the metro instead. _Suddenly the world seems a different place somehow full of grace, full of light… _


	9. Of Suits and Stage-Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire feels really weird...

_Wow, seems like Enjolras is shining bright again_, thinks Grantaire as the sun filters through his sheer kitten curtains. “Dress rehearsal. Yay. Us running through the whole damn thing. Fun. Wearing costumes. Exciting. Seeing Apollo in cost- _Oh my God_.”

Grantaire can’t help the heat that travels down his neck and pushes his thoughts away before he gets carried off into lalaland again. He checks the clock, grabs his stuff, and promptly legs it all the way to the theatre. When he makes it backstage, Grantaire is ambushed by a squealing Cosette in a skimpy “slave” costume and an Éponine in the same skimpy costume only significantly less happy. She furrows her brows, grumbling, “I just really want a t-shirt right now.”

“Kinda unfair that I get to be in a full suit plus extra when you guys have to suffer like that.”

“Yeah, R. This is gonna be so entertaining, though. You’re like the opposite of clandestine and you’re supposed to be sneaking around the opera house like some sort of bat.”

“Hey! I take mild offense to that. I can be subtle when I want.”

“Right.”

Cosette inserts a hand between the two of them and says, “R, you aren’t going to be on for a while but you should get changed.”

“Yeah. Right, yeah,” Grantaire fumbles as he moves to stumble into his dressing room. He doesn’t quite make it to his door before the adjacent one almost smacks him in the face, followed by an “Crap. Sorry R, didn’t see you there” in one very distinct baritone (take a wild guess, will you?). Grantaire just waves off the apology and slams the door to his own room while quickly stripping off his jeans and shirt. He sighs at _all the layers_ and takes a large handful of the gross styling gel.

In a few minutes, Grantaire is fully dressed in all his suited glory, and his unruly curls (no wig until Act II) are slicked back Draco Malfoy style. He steps backstage right when the lights in the house extinguish and “Prologue” starts. There’s a gasp as the chandelier rises to the first chords of the overture and the dancers enter the stage. Grantaire watches Éponine and Cosette in the dress rehearsal scene and Éponine’s rendition of “Think of Me” while Cosette and Fantine help her into the dress that renders his fellow actors speechless for a moment. Éponine looks over for a second and raises an eyebrow at Grantaire while he flashes her a peace sign. When Grantaire looks up at the other side of the stage, _he’s_ almost rendered speechless because Enjolras just sits there in “The Managers’ Box” nonchalantly in his _fitted_ suit and frilly shirt (no one should look that good in a frilly shirt). Suddenly, he stands and Grantaire realizes that the scene had shifted. Now that Grantaire can see Enjolras’s _pants_, he feels his cheeks heat up slightly, not from the stage lighting obviously, but because _butt_. He can’t stop staring at Enjolras in all his Vicomtely splendor and smiles a little while fixing the mask over his face.__

_ _When he enters through the mirror illusion, Grantaire feels the light blind him a little as the spotlight focuses on him. He ignores it in favor of “seducing” Éponine (ew, this feels incestuous) and maintaining a mysterious exterior. Grantaire feels Javert’s eyes on him as well as the eyes of all his fellow cast members, Enjolras included. Grantaire doesn’t mess up, he’s a professional for some odd reason, and he watches as Enjolras comes back into view, looking harried. The lights change and the props move around until the stage gives off appropriately creepy vibes. Clearly, Montparnasse and Brujon outdid themselves with the dim lighting and the echoey sound effects as Grantaire has to suppress shudders. Enter Combeferre and his brilliant keyboard skills._ _

_ _Exit Combeferre and his brilliant keyboard skills when the scene changes again. Enter a lot more music, actors running around onstage, lights changing, props shifting, the orchestra sounding incredible as per usual, Enjolras and his accompanying glow, Musichetta and her diva alter ego, Joly and Bossuet sucking up to her as always, Feuilly’s death, some more dancing, Éponine acting way out of her own character, and a heck of a lot more singing. Exit Grantaire as Act I finishes to applause from everyone else. He can’t resist the satisfying snap of his cloak as he “spins out of existence”. The first thing Grantaire does in the safety of the backstage is remove his mask. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the mask, but over an hour in that thing can get stuffy sometimes._ _

_ _A few moments later, Grantaire’s in, _sigh_, the dreaded red Renaissance outfit. Thankfully, the breeches don’t hug his legs so snugly so he can at least walk instead of waddle. The dressing room door opens to reveal Claquesous on the other side. Wordlessly, Grantaire sits in a chair and waits patiently as special effects makeup is smeared over the right side of his face. He thinks, _this is gonna be a major annoyance to take off later._ The bald cap with the tufts of discolored hair goes over his own thick locks, and the disgusting feathered hat with the skull mask covers it up. Grantaire winces slightly at the sudden addition of weight on his face and head. _I get to look like a disfigured old man. Oh, yes!_ Then he wrinkles his nose because The Phantom is actually twice Christine’s age. Claquesous smacks him to stop moving the makeup and Grantaire looks into the mirror at himself. _I… don’t look that different. Nice makeup. __ _

_ _When Grantaire steps out, he rolls his eyes as Enjolras’s go wide at the horrifying sight of a costume and stares longingly at Enjolras’s own black jacket. The corner of Enjolras’s mouth lifts when he says, “Nice costume. And nice, uh, hat?”_ _

_ _“Yeah.”_ _

_ _“I genuinely can’t tell what you’re thinking under there.”_ _

_ _“Har har. I feel like I just stepped out of an extremely extra Halloween party.”_ _

_ _“You’re actually not that far off.”_ _

_ _“Enjolras, you don’t get to make any snarky remarks.”_ _

_ _“Er, ok. I’d better get going.”_ _

_ _“Yeah.”_ _

_ _“I’ll just-” Enjolras motions over to the backstage door and Grantaire lifts his face into a smile as best as he could, even though it’s pretty much unseen before making a shooing motion. Éponine steps into sight and the two of them disappear backstage. He knows that the lights dim and faintly, the entr’acte plays. Grantaire hears “Masquerade” start and walks quietly into the wings. He muffles a gasp at how the stage transformed. There is a crowd, for lack of better words, of people in outfits that make Grantaire feel better about his own and in masks with pretty much anything and everything attached. The stage itself is sparkling and the props literally glow in Montparnasse’s light design. Grantaire watches, transfixed, until someone nudges him into position. He hurries behind the massive staircase and takes the hidden stairs to the top. When the music cues him, Grantaire literally sweeps (his costume is more like a mop than anything else) into sight._ _

_ _Grantaire finally gets out of that horrid red thing and into a more practical mask that’s attached to The Wig. Peeking out from the wings, he witnesses Enjolras and Fantine plot his demise. Once again, the stage shifts into the managers’ office and he provides his voice when necessary. Grantaire zones out for the following scene and returns to earth for his favorite part. Éponine, now in a different dress and a fluffy cloak, steps tenderly into the “cemetery”. A few seconds pass and Grantaire has to decide between snickering and dropping his jaw in shock. Because Enjolras appears wearing his stupid suit and overcoat along with a pained expression. Clearly, “protect Christine” has such an impact on his righteous soul that he can’t force his face back into a less constipated contortion. _Enjolras cuts a dashing figure in that suit, but he looks better in a hoodie or even with that dandelion bedhead_, Grantaire thinks dryly. He stays hidden while singing to Éponine before getting _so rudely interrupted_ by Enjolras. After Éponine sings her freaky high notes and stage-kisses Enjolras (Grantaire has to shield his eyes there because it’s like his sister-figure is making out with his friend), Grantaire pops out of his hiding place and promptly attacks Enjolras with his prop sword._ _

_ _And they fight. Like a lot. With blunt swords, obviously, but fighting. That pretty much sums up the rest of the scene and a lot of heavy shit happens afterwards. Grantaire has to try really hard not to pull a face when Éponine pulls off his mask and (blech) kisses him. Enjolras’s abs make a _phantom_ appearance and Grantaire trusts Éponine to take care of his mask and wig. Grantaire’s bald cap gets exposed, his “love” for Éponine gets exposed, the chandelier’s weakness gets exposed, and Act II closes. Of course, they have to practice the curtain call, so Valjean cues the pit to play their special curtain call music. The ballet corps and company step to the front and take a giant, mostly coordinated bow. Cosette and her mother link arms and wait for Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta to join them. Enjolras steps forward and takes a bow, quickly followed by Éponine. Finally, Grantaire stares at a spot on the back wall of the theatre to ignore all the attention on him and takes his own solo bow. Cheers rise because _they finally made their way through_ The Phantom of the Opera. _ _

_ _Grantaire’s sigh of relief is echoed by a few others and he joins them backstage. He slips into his dressing room and scrubs off all the offending makeup and the ugly bald cap. The wig gets safely deposited onto its wig form and his clothes get deposited onto the rack. His hair is slightly stiff and sticks up in every direction, but he’s finally back in his _comfortable_ green hoodie. _ _

_ _Plopping down in one of the comfy red seats in the audience, Grantaire stretches before settling his still-trembling hands into his lap. He watches as everyone else more or less does the same, and he directs his focus to Javert on the stage. For one of the last times, Javert makes an announcement. But this time, he sounds emotional instead of his usual bitter. Grantaire can almost hear tears in his voice when Javert speaks, “I know I’ve been harsh on most of you and nitpicky in following the script, but today, you guys put on one of the most heart-wrenching dress rehearsals I’ve ever witnessed. In fact, I almost wish you guys would have saved some of that angst for the actual show. But, I know for a fact that after this, I don’t think I can possibly go on to direct a better show. Once opening night rolls around in a week, you guys will answer to Valjean for the rest of this production and follow his direction. Now, take a break, because you guys deserve it, and we’ll spend the rest of the time smoothing out the few rough edges we have. If you need to have anything done with your costumes, Claquesous will be waiting backstage.”_ _

_ _The next few hours fly by in the blink of an eye. Honestly, everyone probably felt a little choked up in between scenes, like Javert was a villain who suddenly revealed his internal conflict and redeemed himself before dying. Shaking his head, Grantaire takes the steps two at a time to get out of the theatre and catch up with the others. With a few parting words to his friends (yes, they’re his friends because what else would you call the people who are in this beast of a musical with him), Grantaire breathes in the smoggy Parisian air. _Ah yes, so fresh._ A warmth suddenly appears to his right, and Enjolras is beside him. Without really thinking, Grantaire lifts a fist, hoping that Enjolras does indeed understand friendly gestures. Enjolras bumps it with his own (thank goodness, jeez) and says, “So… the time is near. Opening night is in what, like a week?”_ _

_ _“Jesus Christ, you’re right. I didn’t even think about that. Urgh, I need to get off my ass and actually practice some more.”_ _

_ _“What are you even talking about? You sound pretty much perfect.”_ _

_ _Grantaire doesn’t look at Enjolras. He dismisses that notion, “Far from. You, however, sound like, uh, Apollo. But, uh, you probably should fix your, um, face.”_ _

_ _“I should probably fix my face.”_ _

_ _“Y’know, that constipated thing you do whenever you have to mention that Christine needs protection? Crap, that came out a little weirdly but you get the gist,” Grantaire waves his arms to attempt to get his point across. Enjolras sighs, “Hmm, you’re right. Too bad the stick is too far up, right?”_ _

_ _Grantaire whips his head around so fast, he nearly gets whiplash. He openly stares and mutters, “Oh my God. You aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor.”_ _

_ _Enjolras’s shrug is full-bodied and French. “Whoops?”_ _

_ _This time, Grantaire flaps his hands at Enjolras, trying to dispel the incoming laughter before he has to be faced with his sides hurting. A minute later, Courfeyrac joins them, Combeferre and Éponine in tow. “Let’s go out somewhere!”_ _

_ _And that’s how Grantaire is roped into joining them for dinner at the Café Musain. It’s an enjoyable evening, quiet save for Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm. He pretty much dominates the conversation, talking about how good everything looks and how he wishes he could be in the audience watching. Éponine ruffles his hair. “Then we’ll be down a bassoonist! What’ll we do without you, Courf?”_ _

_ _“Oh please. Like my part is _that_ irreplaceable”_ _

_ _“I know that ’Ferre agrees that you are an important and vital part of this production.”_ _

_ _“I do, indeed, agree.”_ _

_ _Grantaire just smiles at the others and says, “Uh, so I’m gonna get going. I’ll see you all tomorrow?”_ _

_ _Enjolras replies, “Yeah, for sure.”_ _

_ _With a final awkward wave, Grantaire hurries out of the café and back to his apartment without looking back over his shoulder. What nobody else sees is the brilliant grin on his face. _There is a duty I must heed, there is a promise I have made…__ _


	10. Of Crying and Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras panics...

The day before opening night sees Enjolras more frazzled than ever. Not a moment goes by without him freaking out with all the nervous tension in the air. Even with all the experience Enjolras has had in the theatre, there’s nothing that really prevents this from happening. Anyone who knows him from past shows knows to stay out of the way lest they wish to invoke a demon. It certainly isn’t healthy by any means, but Enjolras copes just fine and those productions haven’t been terrible in the past.

During break, Enjolras rushes through the dressing room hallways like a whirlwind with no purpose by destruction. Courfeyrac and Jehan almost bump into him, but years spent with Enjolras force them to step safely out of the way. Enjolras pushes a hand through his rapidly frizzing hair and paces back and forth. He directs a glare at Courfeyrac when he hears the offhand comment, “He looks like an angry cat, all puffed up like that.”

Jehan just takes Courfeyrac’s elbow and leads him safely away from the dressing rooms. Combeferre pokes his head into the hallway, takes one look at Enjolras, and draws his head back without a word. Feuilly gives him a concerned glance and tries to talk to Enjolras, but his advances are quickly dismissed. Joly tries to give him a banana for the nerves, but Enjolras tosses it in the trash when he ducks out of sight. Enjolras sighs and decides that running up and down the stairs instead will take away some of the frantic energy.

With burning thighs, Enjolras sits on the bottom step with his head between his knees. He doesn’t say anything when he feels a presence beside him. “You look like shit.”

_R. Damn it_, Enjolras thinks. “Appreciate that incredible observation,” Enjolras winces at how annoyed his tone sounds. He looks up to gauge Grantaire’s reaction, but he’s already waved Enjolras off. Grantaire continues, “I guess I sort of understand. This entire time, I’ve been fairly nervous between rehearsals and run-throughs. I mean, I kinda realized how stressful everything would be right up until opening night, but I didn’t exactly prepare for this.”

This time, Enjolras can’t hold back his temper. He snaps, “Well, if you aren’t prepared for anything, why did you even audition in the first place?!”

Enjolras’s eyes widen because he did not mean to say something so tactless. Unfortunately, the damage has been done, and Grantaire’s face that’s usually so alive with emotions is now closed off. His tone is equally as cold, “Well, if you didn’t want me here, maybe you could have mentioned that straight up in the first place. And maybe I was wrong when I thought you’d finally shed that arrogance.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to say when Grantaire stands up and storms out of the hallway. He briefly registers Éponine put a comforting arm around Grantaire and look back at Enjolras. If he was frazzled before, then now his stomach is settled in the worst possible way. Something akin to fear takes over the nerves instead. Musichetta gives him a harsh look, Joly and Bossuet both frown at him and Bahorel agrees, “E, that was a pretty asshole thing to say.”

Enjolras buries his face in his hands and barely acknowledges the sound of combat boots come closer and closer. Éponine almost yells, “Look. I don’t know and I don’t care what you said to make R this upset, but I need you to take your head out from where it’s stuck so far up your ass that clearly, your brain is filled with shit and go comfort him. If Grantaire doesn’t come back, then our show is freaking screwed.”

Éponine stomps away and Enjolras is left feeling even worse. _I’ve really ruined it this time, haven’t I?_ He stands up and follows Éponine before meekly asking, “Wait, where is he?”

“Go figure it out by your damn self. If R thinks so highly of you, then you should be capable of at least that.”

Enjolras is left staring at the floor. Usually when he gets overly nervous the day before opening night, he wears himself out before facing others. Today, however, with everyone constantly approaching him, the pent-up frustration unleashed itself unfairly onto Grantaire. _Excuses, excuses._ Enjolras shakes his head and gives himself an internal pep talk. _Think, Enj, think. Where would R go when he wants to escape from reality?_

So that’s exactly how Enjolras ends up running around Paris for the remainder of the afternoon after being reprimanded by Javert to “hurry the hell up and find our Phantom like you’re supposed to”, first stopping at Square d’Estienne-d’Orves, not finding him, and briefly considering the Louvre because Enjolras knows Grantaire has a certain fondness for art. He smacks his forehead for that because why would someone seeking comfort go to a crowded museum full of noisy tourists? Enjolras all but flies toward the metro when a sudden idea strikes him. _Why would R need to go anywhere when he can stay in the safety of his own home???_ He groans at his own sheer stupidity.

As soon as he steps off the train, Enjolras races all the way to Grantaire’s apartment on Rue Chaptal. When he finally stops in the middle of the street, he’s breathing heavily and even more flustered than before. A few steps from the entrance of the building, however, he considers that Grantaire might not even want to see his face. Conveniently, a bench is placed right next to the front door, so Enjolras sits there and thinks for a good hour, considering the pros and cons of talking to him. Finally, he announces out loud, “I’m not a coward. The worst he can do is slam the door in my face.”

The door does get slammed in his face. He doesn’t hear footsteps walk away from the door, so he places a hand tentatively against the wood and says softly, “Grantaire? Please, I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. I’d take back every single word and action if that means you’d come back. Even if you don’t talk to me or look at me ever again, do this for our friends, yeah?”

Enjolras stands there for a minute, panicking over whether he was talking to a door or if his “heartfelt” speech actually reached Grantaire’s ears. “Now, that would just be ridiculous, wouldn’t it.”

“R.”

“How could I hold it against you for nerves controlling your tongue? And how could I ever not look at you again when your glow draws everyone’s eyes toward you?”

Enjolras is left there staring as he watches Grantaire walk back towards his living room. The door is still open, so he invites himself in. He waits as Grantaire wraps himself in a soft blanket (adorable) and huddles against one of the couch’s armrests. Enjolras hesitantly perches on the other end while Grantaire sighs in exasperation. “Get comfortable already. I’m about to unload all of my edgy bullshit on you, and I don’t want you falling off the edge.”

“Um, ok. You don’t have to explain anything to me, y’know. I acted like a dickwad earlier to you and even if you aren’t going to hold a grudge against me, nothing condones my horrible actions.”

“No, no. You deserve to know.”

Enjolras awkwardly shuffles until he’s curled up against the armrest. Grantaire begins, “So, when I started middle school, I signed up for theatre classes without knowing all the crap that comes with it. In the years before then, I had always been in a choir. Never was I on the stage alone. Unfortunately, that all changed when our first school play came. Apparently, I relied on a group more than I realized because in the middle of the performance, I froze.”

Enjolras clenches his fists when Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut in a pained expression. This was obviously not a memory that he wanted to recall. He opens his eyes when Enjolras scoots over and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to continue if it makes you feel horrible.”

A watery smile is directed at Enjolras. “No, I’ll continue. The pain brings me back to earth sometimes when I float too far. So stage fright. Pathetic, right?”

Grantaire laughs self-deprecatingly, “I landed the lead in a pathetic school play and during the performance, I pathetically stood there with my mouth open. And all the lines that I’d painstakingly memorized just… disappeared. After that disgusting experience, I’d try all that I could to chase the anxiety that accompanied each performance away. I can relate much more than you think, Apollo. This lasted all the way through high school, and neither Joly nor Bossuet ever noticed. I would hide in the bathroom and have panic attacks while everyone else changed into their costumes in the stalls two feet away from me. I kept everything from my parents the entire time. When I graduated and got accepted into Conservatoire de Bordeaux, I was freaking elated. I thought it would help me wipe my slate clean.”

Enjolras doesn’t get a chance to see his tears when Grantaire buries his face in his blanket. His voice comes out a little muffled, “I’ve never been more wrong in my life. Conservatoire de Bordeaux was a brilliant opportunity for me, and Éponine was-still is a supportive friend the whole time. I had hoped an opportunity meant an improvement for myself. Obviously not. If anything, the problem worsened as the conservatory meant competition that sometimes was less than friendly. Ironically, I’ve never been a confident person. I quit dance because I thought I wasn’t good enough, and although I got lead roles, I didn’t think I deserved them.”

“You deserve every good thing that happens to you, R.”

“Ha. I wish you were there to tell me that before I became such a mess. Performance anxiety was only the seed of the problem, though. I thought drinking would be an easy solution, but alcohol is never a shortcut for anything. I frequented bars more and more often and would drink all my problems away. When Éponine noticed, she frowned but never tried intervening. I wouldn’t have wanted her to, honestly. After getting my degree, I was the worst I’ve ever been. _Two years_, Apollo. That’s how long it took to become sober and finally get out into the world again. I moved to Paris for job opportunities and auditioned for _The Phantom of the Opera_ almost as soon as I got here.”

By the end, heavy sobs were interspersed throughout the story. Enjolras’s face falls when Grantaire lifts his head. Grantaire’s eyes are rimmed with red and tears are still leaking out of the corners. Enjolras isn’t usually a touchy-feely person, but he doesn’t even think when he opens his arms and envelopes Grantaire in a hug, blanket burrito and everything. He feels Grantaire stiffen and quickly relax before burying his head deeper into Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras peels the blanket away so he can continue to embrace Grantaire and tucks the blanket around both of them. There’s a wet patch where Grantaire had been crying, but Enjolras doesn’t mind. The only thing that matters right now is making sure Grantaire receives all the comfort. He tightens his hold on Grantaire and allows him to quietly cry his heart out. _I know a place where no one’s lost, I know a place where no one cries… _


	11. Of Beds and Bladders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras has to use the bathroom...

Grantaire is extremely blessed from Enjolras and his beautiful heart. What had conspired during break is quickly forgiven and forgotten when he’s nestled so warmly in Enjolras’s arms. Grantaire doesn’t look up at Enjolras’s expression and instead tucks his nose in the juncture between Enjolras’s chin and collarbone. He sniffles a couple times and feels Enjolras rub his back. Grantaire hears a few sweet phrases murmured into his hair and can’t help but actually believe them. Enjolras almost always means what he says, unless of course he’s under the influence of alcohol or anger. Grantaire bursts into a round of fresh tears when Enjolras says, “R, you’re so, so special to all of us. Any world without you is a world that we don’t want to live in.”

_You can’t say nice things like that to me or I’ll feel disgustingly fluttery._ Grantaire curls into himself even further and brings his own arms around Enjolras’s torso in a fit of random bravery. _I’ll think nothing of it. I’ll probably never get the opportunity to hug a deity like this ever again._ Grantaire feels a weight on his head, and a lock of blonde hair falls against his cheek and tickles his nose. Grantaire can’t hold back the tiny sneeze and hears Enjolras laughs in delight, “That is _so_ adorable. If Courfeyrac compared me to a fluffy, angry kitten earlier, you’re like a fluffy, sneezy kitten.”

“Oh my God. You can’t just say things like that,” Grantaire mutters. He feels the vibrations in Enjolras’s chest as he laughs and can’t help the way his cheeks turn hot. Grantaire just turns his face and buries it in the soft cotton of Enjolras’s shirt. He breathes in deeply because it smells faintly of a floral scent that must be Enjolras’s soap and a soft scent that must be his laundry detergent. “Are you sniffing my shirt?”

“Shhh, leave me alone.”

“A little hard with your arms so tightly around me.”

“You hugged me first.”

“You were crying!”

“You’re like an onion, Apollo.”

“What?”

“I haven’t cried like this in so long. Feels good though.”

“I’m sorry! Sometimes I say insensitive things and feel like crap afterwards. I have the emotional range of a turtle. But I’m hugging you so hopefully I’m doing something right?”

“Bah, I don’t believe it. You can be plenty emotional when I push the right buttons. And the hug is nice.”

“Oh, so _now_ you want me keep hugging you.”

“Yeah, and don’t ever stop,” Grantaire has absolutely no idea when he became so touch-starved and audacious in requesting bodily contact. _Apollo brings out the best in me._ He makes a happy noise when long fingers start carding through his hair. “If you keep doing that, I’ll never want to leave.”

“Well too bad because I’ll end up pissing my pants eventually.”

“Oh, crap. You’re right,” Grantaire grumbles before releasing Enjolras. They both climb off the couch, and Grantaire immediate misses the warmth. Grantaire shivers slightly at the sudden lack of Enjolras. Enjolras sighs and says, “You ridiculous human. We can cuddle again after I relieve my body of liquid excretion.”

“Yay, cuddles. You do know where the bathroom is, right?”

“Maybe. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Just don’t piss on my floor, will ya?”

“No promises. You were really squeezing my bladder earlier.”

“Stop! Stop! Too much information! You didn’t complain earlier!”

“I didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere.”

“Ok ok, go use the bathroom, already!”

They smile a little awkwardly at each other as Enjolras speeds down the hallway, hopefully, in the right direction. Grantaire presses his hands against his cheeks and grins, feeling a little stupid inside. Enjolras quickly returns, and they resume cuddling on the couch. At some point, Grantaire suggests watching something while they’re so comfortable. He smirks a little deviously and puts in one of his sacred Enjolras recordings. “_Oh my God_, you spent actual money on these???”

“Yeah, duh. Who would miss out on an opportunity to watch you perform in the comfort of their own home?”

“Uh, me.”

“No fun at all, Apollo.”

“Well, looks like you’ll be witnessing my failures onstage of,” Enjolras squints at the screen, “_Mamma Mia!_? Jesus Christ, I don’t even want to open my eyes. Oh, but Cosette was in that one too.”

“It’s so strange seeing you on the TV and having you right here as well. But hey, I get running commentary if you’re willing.”

“Oh, yes. I’ll reveal all my embarrassing moments just to make you happy.”

“I legitimately can’t tell if that’s sarcastic or not.”

“Completely genuine.”

“That too.”

“I hope you won’t mind me interrupting myself.”

“It would be a pleasure, Apollo.”

“Enjolras.”

“On the screen, yeah,” Grantaire jerks his chin towards the screen and feels his lips twitch at Enjolras’s extremely visible grimace. “You’re evil, I tell you, evil.”

“You appreciate me, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

Grantaire _melts_ because he was _joking_, but evidently, Enjolras wasn’t. He doesn’t know how many more layers of the onion that is Enjolras there are, but he’s (more or less) pleasantly surprised every time. Enjolras’s running commentary proves both hilarious and a little weird because he recalls every single detail perfectly and provides anecdotes that leave Grantaire in a wheezing fit every time. (“During rehearsals, I was living and breathing ABBA.”) It’s almost as if Grantaire’s in the production with Enjolras. When night falls, Grantaire gets up to make them dinner. Enjolras stands immediately and says, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to impose.”

Grantaire just stares at him incredulously, “You practically run all the way from Théâtre Mogador to my apartment, and who knows where else you went, and think you’re imposing? Don’t be so dense as to think I’m gonna kick you out.”

“How did you even know I ran all the way here?”

Grantaire points to his kitten curtains, “Window. The side of the couch I was on has the perfect view, remember? And I kinda just assumed you took a few detours because knowing Éponine, she would have had you find me.”

“Ah.”

“That was one of the most amusing things I’ve watched, honestly. You make such funny expressions sometimes. And an hour? Seriously?”

“Cut me some slack, I was arguing with myself on whether you would slam the door in my face or not.”

“Ahaha, yeah. Sorry about that. But you’re staying for dinner and maybe the night because you listened to my heavy sob-story and cuddled me afterwards. Also because you make good company before opening night.”

“Oh, then would you mind if I went back home to grab a few things? I’ll be back in roughly sixteen minutes.”

Grantaire waves him off and hears the door close before thinking about everything he just said. _Stay the night? Seriously, what is this, a sleepover? Ha._ Surely enough, twenty minutes later, Enjolras is pounding at the door again. Grantaire sighs and yells, “Y’know, a knock is sufficient, right? The door’s open.”

Grantaire doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to the sight of an out-of-breath Enjolras, especially when he comes into his apartment. “I brought a pillow.”

“Um, ok. Food. Eat.”

“Thanks. So, how are you feeling?”

“We are so not having a therapy session at,” Grantaire checks the clock, “22:00 at night.”

“Well don’t blame me! I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Then I’m feeling much better than I was earlier this afternoon.”

“That’s… good.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lapses into comfortable silence for the remainder of the meal. Grantaire stands up to clear everything away. He does his nightly business and steps out of the bathroom. “So, we can either watch something else or we can sleep.”

“I think I’d rather sleep, to be honest. We have to be in top shape for opening night tomorrow.”

“Right. Well, I can take the couch, or we can sleep in the bed. I don’t think that’s gonna be too awkward considering we just spent the better part of the afternoon and evening cuddling.”

“I don’t think I snore or move too much, so I’m not gonna kick you out of your own bed. Come on.”

As Enjolras takes a shower (Grantaire tries not to freak out), Grantaire changes in his room and slips into the covers. Unfortunately, the anticipation for the next day prevents him from letting sleep take over, so when Enjolras exits the bathroom with his hair dripping wet, Grantaire’s just lying there with his eyes wide open. “Can’t sleep?”

“The anticipation is legitimately killing me.”

“Yikes. I don’t think I’d be much better, honestly.”

“Hey, Apollo?”

“Yeah?”

“Whoa, you actually didn’t correct me. But, will you do me a favor?”

“If it’s within my abilities.”

Grantaire shyly turns his head into his pillow and mumbles, “Will you… sing for me?”

Apparently Enjolras has incredible hearing because he replies, “What, you’re replacing Éponine with me now? But yeah, if that’ll help you sleep. Any requests?”

Grantaire is eternally grateful for the being that is Enjolras. “I don’t really care. Anything you like.”

So that’s how Enjolras started singing, _“I was left to my own devices… Many days fell away with nothing to show…”_

“Pfft, nice choice. And predictable. Of course you’d pick a song by someone called ‘Bastille’.”

“Shut up and enjoy your favor.”

“Yes, sir, Vicomte, sir,” Grantaire laughs. He closes his eyes when Enjolras sings it like a command. The song taken twice as slow sounds almost like a power ballad, especially without the instrumental accompaniment, and Enjolras’s smooth baritone truly makes him deserving of the title “Apollo”. Grantaire almost laughs when Enjolras sings, _“How can I be an optimist about this…”_

Enjolras’s voice fades into the distance as Grantaire drifts off into dreamland.

The next morning, Grantaire wakes up feeling the best he’s felt in a long time. He opens his eyes and immediately spits out a mouthful of fluffy, blonde curls. _Oh, right_. Grantaire sits up and wiggles Enjolras’s shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead. If we don’t show up on time, Javert will have our heads for sure, under the influence of the emotional speech from last week or not.”

Grantaire can only watch in amusement as Enjolras groans and pushes his head even further into his pillow. “So, not a morning person, are we. Welp. Looks like I’ll have to use my coffee tactic.”

Grantaire quickly gets out of bed, changes, does his morning routine stuff, and gets the coffee machine going. With the scent of coffee comes a bleary-eyed Enjolras, still in his sweatpants. Grantaire has to fight the urge to openly stare because _that is just really cute_. “Coffee?” Grantaire asks holding up the pot with a smug grin. An affirmative sound. “Well, drink up, get dressed, and let’s get out of here.”

Enjolras lifts the mug to his lips and gives him a salute. A few minutes later sees them walking briskly to the theatre with croissants in hand. Grantaire breathes deeply before entering for serious rehearsal one last time. _Another day, another destiny… _


	12. Of Makeup and Masquerades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is in love...

Enjolras is slightly panicking. It’s opening night after all, what else would anyone expect. Sure, costumes don’t usually randomly go missing _opening night_, but apparently tonight was an exception. So Enjolras has every right to be panicking. He mutters to himself, “I can’t find my bowtie… where the hell is my bowtie?”

A strip of fabric is thrown in his face, and Enjolras sighs in relief. Someone shouts, “Stage makeup. On. Now.”

Sounds of affirmative. The green room is in madness as members of the ballet corps sit on the floor doing stretches and the cast does crazy vocal warm-ups. Enjolras can hear the orchestra tuning in the pit and warming up. He sighs and ducks into his dressing room and fidgets while his features are being masked by a crap ton of makeup. Enjolras has never really enjoyed the feeling of goop being caked onto his face, but for the sake of the people in the audience, he endures it without complaint. Stage makeup always seemed unnecessary for him, mostly because he never really watches anything from an audience member’s perspective (minus himself on TV the night before), but Enjolras does understand the concept of making certain facial features prominent in the stage lighting. Especially for 19th century French aristocrats. Thankfully, for him, that only includes a heck of a lot of contouring and eyeshadow? _Uh, ok. I’ll just deal with that, I guess. _

Enjolras does get slightly uncomfortable in the chair when the makeup artist starts oohing and aahing over his, uh, jawline. As soon as that whole thing is over, he nearly bolts out of his dressing room. Enjolras barely steps aside in time for Courfeyrac to dart into the hallway with a reed in his mouth. He takes it out, hugs Enjolras, and grins before (hopefully) making his way back to the pit. The loudspeaker crackles loudly, and Thénardier’s nasal voice causes everyone to wince. “Get your sorry butts in position. It’s 19:00 and you have half an hour before the chandelier rises.”

Bahorel grumbles to Enjolras’s right, “Actually, the chandelier rises after the pro-whatever. Let’s go and kill this thing.”

Enjolras suddenly notices an absence of black cloak and suit. “Hey, does anyone know where R is?”

Bossuet answers, “Probably wrestling his hair into submission.”

Enjolras thanks him and knocks on Grantaire’s dressing room door. When nobody answers, he pushes it open slightly. And immediately regrets that decision because _what the hell was he thinking?_ “Um, yeah. I’ll just close this door, and we can pretend the last few seconds never happened.”

What sounds suspiciously like a muffled “I don’t exactly mind” follows Enjolras as he nearly slams the door shut. Enjolras wheezes to the closed door, “Next time I worry about your punctuality, give me some kind of response before I barge in on you half-dressed.”

“Well it’s a little hard to hear through my hoodie and shirt, y’know. Anyway, you can come in now.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath because the last thing he wanted for his nerves was for Grantaire to have nothing covering those glorious, _glorious_ back muscles. _Jesus Christ, we literally shared a bed last night, and I didn’t freak out like this._ Enjolras wants to pound his head against the wall and shout, _“Focus, E, FOCUS.”_

Instead, he opens the door to the (hopefully) safe dressing room and catches Grantaire buttoning his waistcoat. Enjolras offhandedly remarks, “That’s a nice suit. Black’s a good color on you.”

With the mask already firmly in place, he doesn’t see Grantaire stare at him with wide, blue eyes. What Enjolras does hear, rather than see, is Grantaire’s snicker, “Your face looks ridiculous. I didn’t think you’d need any makeup because -I don’t know- cheekbones or something. Your artist really laid it on thick, don’t you think?”

“Ugh, she kept going on and on like ‘Ohhh, _Enj_olras. I want your _jawline_ to _cut_ girls’ _hearts_ out’. I don’t think I ever want to deal with this ever again,” Enjolras shudders at the terrifying memory. This time, Grantaire laughs and pokes his cheek. “Y’know, I, uh, sorta always did my own makeup in school and stuff, so I could probably help you from here on out. It’s just foundation and contouring for you anyway. The whole deformed look I have going on, though, on the other hand… well let’s just say that I feel like my face literally falls off after Act II is over.”

Before Enjolras gets the chance to reply, the loudspeaker crackles again. Grantaire hurriedly but still accurately applies his makeup. Enjolras just watches in fascination because his eyeliner skills could honestly rival Mulan’s mother’s. Grantaire stands, slicks back his hair, and ushers Enjolras out. Enjolras watches, bored, as Éponine is takes the curlers out of her hair, and Cosette ties her own in a half-up-half-down style. Just a moment later, everyone is graced by Grantaire’s presence. He whispers, “So, how’s the house out there?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, “It seems like the people of Paris have united to see us put on a hopefully incredible _Phantom_.”

“Well, Apollo, I pray you’re right. As long as I don’t screw up.”

“You won’t.”

“You have much more faith in myself than I do.”

“Shh. House lights are out in five minutes.”

“Go. Shoo.”

Enjolras enters the backstage area and waits for his rapidly beating heart to calm down. A microphone gets taped to his forehead as he gives way to his internal turmoil. _Calm down, Enj, calm down. It’s just another show that I’m in. Oh, but this needs to be amazing, for R’s sake. Yeah, that’s it, I’m going to be the best I can, for Grantaire._

Apparently, Enjolras is thinking so hard that he completely misses “Prologue”. He’s startled suddenly when the opening chords to the overture pierce the air, accompanied by what is unmistakably the gasps of the audience. When the previously dark stage floods with light, Enjolras feels some of his nerves go away. The overture ends way too soon and he has to resist plugging his ears a little when Musichetta goes onstage for her “cadenza”. Joly and Bossuet appear, they talk, and all too soon, Enjolras has to prepare for his entrance. He doesn’t take a backwards glance before he silently makes his way to “The Managers’ Box”. Enjolras can feel the eyes of the full house follow his every motion when he gets up to sing his lines. _This is why I love performing. Sadly, even the role of an aristocrat. The thrill of being in front of a group of people with my friends._

Éponine sings her freakishly high notes as amazingly as always, and the orchestra follows without any error. Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief before getting into his “lovesick” character and meeting Éponine in the middle of the stage. While they’re exchanging lines, Enjolras catches a glimpse of a black cloak and inwardly smiles. He leaves the stage, satisfied, and watches Grantaire pull Éponine into the mirror. Enjolras almost misses his cue to return to the stage because, _damn_, Grantaire looks beautiful under the dim lighting. The stage shifts to the underground labyrinth (just a glorified sewer, really), and Enjolras can only stare, transfixed, almost as if he’s being seduced by Grantaire. _Oh wow, I really have no comment for my own thoughts._ When Grantaire sings his verse, Enjolras feels as if he’s sucked in, because the music is truly enchanting. He can’t help but agree with Éponine when she sings, _“The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind…”_

Enjolras also feels a little awkward witnessing _oh my God, Grantaire’s feeling her up now. Okaaaay._ Enjolras turns away slightly because even in front of an audience of over a thousand people, he can’t help but think that they need their privacy. _This is kinda weird, honestly. Éponine told me R is practically her brother from another mother._ Enjolras stands out of the way, in the wings, and just listens as Éponine “wakes up”, and Grantaire covers his face and proceeds to curse her out. _Ok, internal monologue of denial, there you are. Ah yes. An angry R is definitely not one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed. Nope, not at all._ When the ballet girls slips backstage, Enjolras clears out and gives a miniscule nod to Feuilly. Cosette brushes past Enjolras and pats him on the shoulder as if she knows something that he doesn’t. That smug grin is really not befitting the ballerina. He slips into the hallway and proceeds to strip and change into yet _another_ suit. Unfortunately, Enjolras wishes he waited until he got to the safety of his dressing room before stripping because Grantaire suddenly appears, and they just stare at each other for a moment before Enjolras mutters an apology and turns around.

After quickly pulling on his costume, Enjolras strides back onstage with a piece of paper clutched in his hand. He proceeds to argue with Joly and Bossuet through song and heated arm motions. In the pit, Valjean has his eyes on Enjolras intently as he sings _colla voce_. Some more indignant arguing from multiple different parties occurs, and Enjolras has to suppress a shudder as Grantaire’s voice filters through softly. Joly and Bossuet take over the remainder of the scene with Enjolras interjecting when he’s needed. Grantaire’s presence disappears (Enjolras can just _feel_ it) only to return sometime in the middle of Scene 9. Enjolras walks to his entrance spot for Scene 10 and smiles a little at Grantaire after he had just “killed” Feuilly. Cue more singing. And urgh, Enjolras is not going to miss stage-kissing Éponine. Sappy love songs are completely overrated compared to the powerful reprise that Grantaire provides.

The house lights go back on to eardrum-bursting applause after Grantaire leaves the stage. Enjolras hurries back to his dressing room, hoping to run into Grantaire on the way. To Enjolras’s great pleasure, there he is, chatting excitedly with Éponine and Cosette. Once again, Enjolras doesn’t think twice before running down the hall, hesitating for a split second, and tapping Grantaire on the shoulder. Wide blue eyes meet his own and a second later, the two of them have their arms around each other in a tight hug. “Brilliant. Just. Brilliant,” Enjolras mutters against Grantaire’s slightly mussed hair. “Many thanks, Apollo. You too.”

Of course, they don’t notice Cosette and Éponine sniggering in the background. (They’re too caught up in the emotional roller coaster that is _The Phantom of the Opera_ after all.) They also don’t notice Éponine fan her face and whisper to Cosette, “Y’know, I really doubt Christine would actually mind being left in order for her Vicomte and her ‘Angel of Music’ to finally confess their love for each other. The air is _way_ too charged with unresolved tension from those two.”

Fifteen minutes, one entr’acte, and several frantic cast members later, the curtain rises again, revealing the whole company (minus Grantaire) in various states of over-the-top and frilly costuming. He’s thankful for his rather simple black ensemble because Enjolras has to hold himself from breaking composure when Grantaire steps out in that “Red Death” outfit. Enjolras can practically hear Grantaire’s eyes rolling behind that atrocious skull-shaped mask and forces horror onto his expression upon Grantaire’s arrival. A thick book gets thrown at Joly as Jehan and Combeferre and Jehan accompany Grantaire’s solo.

Enjolras and Fantine take over the stage to plot Grantaire’s demise. _Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire._ Scene 3 of Act II flies by soon after, and Enjolras darts backstage to grab his accessories for the graveyard scene. Éponine single handedly commands the audience with a soulful rendition of “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again”. Enjolras stares, captivated, as Grantaire pulls on his metaphorical mask (his physical one is already on) and attempts to sing Éponine over to “his side”. _Oh yeah, this part._ Enjolras barely steps to the side in time to raise his sword and intercept Grantaire’s. The resounding _clang_ echoes in Enjolras’s ears, but he isn’t fazed because they’ve practiced the choreography many times. It probably doesn’t help that it’s been playing over and over in his head either. Much too soon, Enjolras has Grantaire pinned to the stage floor and a sword to his neck.

Those seconds feel like forever as Enjolras simply stands there and stares through the eye-holes of Grantaire’s mask. _I really want to figure out how deep his blue eyes are. So expressive, so lovely. Oh, Mind, now you decide to stop floating down a river in Egypt?_ All too soon, Enjolras is snapped out of his trance when Éponine pulls him away by the shoulder and pleads for him not to kill “The Phantom”. Schooling his features back into something not resembling a lovestruck fool, Enjolras barely stumbles through his sickeningly-in-love scene with Éponine. His mind, however, keeps backtracking to a few moments ago when Grantaire had been _right there_, almost vulnerable and completely exposed. Éponine doesn’t even question it, following with her lines smoothly, but there’s something in her expression that suggests curiosity or _is that smugness?_

The rest of Act II can’t seem to pass fast enough, but Enjolras gets chills when Grantaire and Éponine sing an emotional duet during “The Point of No Return”. In the second-to-last scene, Enjolras feels more exposed than he should be while coming face-to-face with Grantaire in his bald cap and terrifying makeup. He attributes some of it to the limp shirt that quickly becomes soaked, but most of it is probably Grantaire’s proximity that causes the air to become more charged than he’d really like. Grantaire takes off his coat and reveals those beautiful shoulders underneath his white dress shirt, and pulls the lasso noose over Enjolras’s head. When he’s tied up and Grantaire is _right there_, Enjolras has to swallow and force down the blush before joining in the duet with Éponine because that’s just unbelievably kinky.

Finally, _finally_, the curtain goes down to a wild, wild house. It rises again to allow bows, and Enjolras smiles his stage smile when his turn comes. It feels frozen on his face but ultimately softens when the audience rises in a _standing ovation_ as Grantaire takes his bow. _I really want to kiss him. ARGH but not now, when it can be attributed to giddy feelings from a successful opening night._ Enjolras empties his mind of those thoughts when Valjean and the pit are acknowledged enthusiastically as well as the crew. As soon as the last straggles trickle out, Enjolras meets Grantaire backstage. He wants to embrace him, get lost in those eyes framed in dark, _dark_ lashes, and feel those lips under his own (oh look, he’s turning into Marius and his lonely soul now). Of course, none of that actually happens because Enjolras believes that while there might be a sliver of hope that Grantaire could _possibly_ return those feelings, the musical should always come first.

Enjolras ends up helping Grantaire remove the heavily caked special effects makeup and noticing that his hair is mussed from the bald cap. Cosette knocks and pokes her head in with a giant bouquet of flowers and leaves it on the counter. Enjolras watches in amusement as Grantaire stares at it for a full minute but doesn’t comment. Wordlessly, the two of them grab permanent markers and head for the side of the theatre. Enjolras feels a lot more comfortable in his t-shirt and jeans while greeting fans (warmly goddamnit). He feels absolutely claustrophobic, being swarmed by enthusiastic people, females and males alike. Nonetheless, he signs programs and takes pictures without dropping his smile for a second. Next to Enjolras, Grantaire is in a similar situation, but quickly getting red-cheeked from the exertion. Enjolras takes Grantaire’s elbow and whispers, “Do you need to get out of here?”

Grantaire’s expression is wide and slightly desperate, “Oh my God, yes. Honestly, I just want to get all this gunk out of my hair and _sleep_.”

Enjolras gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and steers him away from stage door. “Get your coat, and I’ll walk you back, ok?”

“O-oh, um, sure. You don’t have to, though.”

“Of course I do. You deserve to relax.”

Grantaire shrugs, “If you say so.”

“Your eyes are practically drooping. Forget walking, let’s just take the bus back, yeah?”

At this point, Grantaire’s speech is pretty much a slurred mumble, “Yeah, I’m gonna use your shoulder as a pillow.”

Enjolras startles, “Uh ok? Make yourself comfortable.”

So that’s how Enjolras’s shoulder loses all feeling on the bus back. He pokes Grantaire’s shoulder, and they stumble back to Grantaire’s flat. Enjolras tucks in a practically asleep Grantaire into his bed and without thinking twice, brushes his lips gently against Grantaire’s hair. Then, Enjolras bolts from the room and promptly crashes on the couch. _Thank God he was asleep…_

Enjolras wakes early the next day and quietly slips out of Grantaire’s apartment. Hurriedly, he jogs the full eight minutes back to his own in order to prepare for their second show. _Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise… _


	13. Of Ovations and Onions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire finally gets over himself...

_The Phantom of the Opera_ ends up running for over half a year before closing night comes at last. Grantaire continued to give his performances, Enjolras and his beautiful self were as stunning as always, Joly and Bossuet made a formidable comedy pair, Bahorel’s leaps gathered the attention and appreciation of many, Feuilly faked his deaths as well as ever, Jehan played his harp like an angel (also looking like an angel), Courfeyrac was as enthusiastic as ever on his bassoon, and Combeferre still hasn’t failed to make the audience excited with his “organ” parts. Of course, Éponine sang just really hecking well (and high), Cosette was as knowledgeable in everything as ever, and Musichetta got into the role of a diva perfectly every show. Of course, there were good days, but also bad days. Afternoons with double shows were tiring, and whenever anyone got sick, the show was never really the same with understudies replacing them. Now that closing night is approaching, Grantaire can’t help but feel sad and a little empty. It’s like all the hard work he had put into the production will come to an end, and all the bonds he formed will be severed once everyone goes their separate ways.

Grantaire drags his feet slightly during the ten minutes he has to walk to the theatre for (hopefully _not_) the last time. _Closing night. This might be the last time I ever see my friends for a while. This might be the last time I ever see Enjolras._ Grantaire loses his mind for a few minutes. Suddenly, his head feels a lot heavier with that thought floating around. Their relationship might have started out a little bumpy with Enjolras being all haughty and arrogant, but now their friendship is probably more comfortable than _friends_ should be. _Well yeah, because I’m pretty sure that I just want to hug and kiss him whenever I possibly can._ Now, Grantaire fights the urge to slap his forehead because if Enjolras ever returned his feelings, he would have done something by now.

Grantaire stares at the carpet under his green Converse and takes in every step to his dressing room. Éponine appears at his side and hooks an arm through his own. “Well, would ya look at that. My baby, R, made it all the way to closing night!”

“I’m older than you, ’Ponine.”

“Bah. Two months are nothing. Besides, I’m the mature one here.”

“Touché.”

Éponine laughs good-naturedly, and the two of them part at their respective rooms. Grantaire stares at his costume on the rack, slipping on his suit once more. He quickly swipes on his foundation and dabs on his powders. His hands shake as he runs the gel through his hair and fixes the mask in place. His hands tremble as Grantaire conceals them with his gloves. Thankfully, he’s saved from an impending crying session when the door opens, and Enjolras comes in. Enjolras probably got into costume like an hour ago, being the punctual human being he is. He asks quietly, “Hey, how are you?”

Grantaire replies, “Doing okay, I guess. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want this to ever end. I was literally going to sit down and cry my makeup off if you hadn’t interrupted when you did.”

“Oh I would too.”

Grantaire waves Enjolras over to his counter, and when Enjolras sits on an adjacent stool, he presses their foreheads together. They simply stay like that for a while before Grantaire smiles. “Break a freaking leg, Apollo.”

“Enjolras. And right back at you, of course.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you suddenly shed golden light and became an Ancient Greek deity in the middle of an improv.”

“I’ll leave the dramatics to you,” Enjolras says playfully, winking. Grantaire clutches a gloved hand to his heart. “Oh, you wound me, Lord Apollo! The sheer power of that wink is more than this mortal deserves.”

Enjolras swats Grantaire’s shoulder, laughing, “We have five minutes. Let’s go.”

Cosette and Éponine both grin at them when they exit Grantaire’s dressing room. Bahorel, Joly, and Bossuet all slap Grantaire on the back when they pass by. Even after eight months, Grantaire doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Bahorel wearing little more than an armored skirt or Bossuet having grey hair. Grantaire takes his place backstage as the house starts to fill. He feels a hand slip into his own, and he knows that it’s Enjolras’s, even through the fabric of his glove. The curtain rises to reveal the auctioning scene. Grantaire breathes deeply because he will inevitably miss seeing the curtain rise and a full house behind it. He’ll also miss the dramatic overture that plays in tandem with the chandelier lighting up and the catchy tunes during Scene 1. He’ll also miss the glint that reflects off Enjolras’s blonde hair when the spotlight flicks over to him. Enjolras had cut his hair roughly halfway through the production, maybe four months after opening night, but now his curls reach well past his shoulder blades tied neatly in a low ponytail. Grantaire loves witnessing him open his mouth for the first time in the show, singing clearly and smoothly.

If Enjolras smiles at Grantaire at any point in Act I, nobody in the audience will be any wiser. Closing night is typically more relaxed, so Grantaire inserts sarcastic laughter in his supposedly menacing dialogue. He supposes he ends the act with a good reprise of “All I Ask of You” since the audience seems to be satisfied. Grantaire darts offstage to quickly get into his dreaded “Masquerade” costume. _Ok, I will miss several things, but I cannot be happy enough to get rid of that disgusting thing. I’m turning my face away from "the garish light of day”, indeed._ Grantaire sighs in exasperation at the red trousers and tights that always seem to be at the edge of his nightmares. The puffy sleeves, as well. _I’m surprised Apollo never seems to run away in fear or anything each time I show up in this monstrosity._ In the end, Grantaire swallows his dignity for the last time and quickly pulls everything on in time for the end of intermission.

Act II goes just as well as Act I with maybe a few minor tweaks on everyone’s part. Éponine goes all in with desperation etched in every feature, and Grantaire has to hold in a snicker when she throws herself at him. Stage-kissing is still as weird as ever, and Éponine seems to relish in the fact that she can make both Grantaire and Enjolras feel uncomfortable by waiting a little too long before separating. However, the sword fighting definitely makes up for that because Enjolras puts in a little more energy in actually fighting rather than rolling his eyes and ends up practically collapsed on top of Grantaire with Enjolras’s sword pointed at his neck. That labyrinth scene leaves Grantaire a little breathless, especially as he ties Enjolras up in his rope. If he caresses Enjolras’s cheek while mocking him, it’s obviously because he’s mocking him (totally not because he’s in love with him or anything). Enjolras’s facial expression is unreadable (he should have been cast as The Phantom instead because of that mask of an expression), and Grantaire can’t tell what he thinks of those new additions.

Of course, the audience claps, and Grantaire takes the same bow that he took at least a hundred times previous to this show. This last time though, he draws Éponine and Enjolras close and slings his arms around their shoulders as the people cheer loudly and whistle. Another standing ovation. The entire cast all pump their fists in the air, and chant with the audience, _“Vive la Opera!”_

Grantaire looks to his right, and Enjolras is there, just as energetic with tears shining in his eyes. It’s like he’s accomplished his goal of changing Paris, one musical at a time. Grantaire can’t help it. He’s close to tears as he wraps his arms around Enjolras’s chest and squeezes him tight, not letting go until the curtain falls.

Backstage, Grantaire sits in his dressing room with the cast members in the group, all of them taking their stage makeup off with wipes that stack up in a rapidly increasing pile. The musicians bring their cases into the room to clean their instruments and pack up. Enjolras, being the first to change and the first to strip his face, holds out eight yellow roses and four pink ones for all of them. “Take whichever. The florist was kinda impatient so he threw a bunch at me. That’s why the yellow ones are a little rough.”

Grantaire takes a yellow flower and mutters his thanks. “So thoughtful as always, Apollo.”

“I’ll let that nickname slip for once.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t let Grantaire give a witty and sarcastic response because he throws himself at Grantaire and holds tight, sobbing. “R, you are so good at singing. ’Ferre saw me crying in the pit and had to stop me from damaging my instrument. Either way, ALL of you have to stay in touch with me.”

Nods of agreement all around. Grantaire forces everyone to leave so he can change back into his street clothes. He stares at the costume on the rack before deciding to keep the mask, safely tucking it inside his backpack. Once Grantaire steps outside, Enjolras is waiting as usual, and he opens his mouth as if to say something before shutting it quickly and shaking his head. Grantaire gives Enjolras a bewildered expression but doesn’t push it. At the base of the steps, everyone’s gathered, hugging and giving handshakes. Director Javert pats all of them on the back at some point, and Grantaire chokes down a sob. Together, everyone walks to the city park and split ways. Grantaire watches Enjolras become a smaller and smaller speck in the distance. He doesn’t look back even once, and the gaping hole inside Grantaire gets larger and larger the more he walks in the opposite direction.

Grantaire is greeted with his empty apartment, and recalls all of the time spent outside of rehearsals and shows, when the wine he shared with his friends never ran dry. He falls asleep on the couch, where the cushions haven’t been washed since Enjolras laid his head on it on opening night (yes, Grantaire knows that he crashed there; Enjolras hadn’t even left a note, rude). Grantaire thinks it might be his imagination, but the cushion smells vaguely of conditioner.

The next day, Grantaire wakes up and feels as if he had gone back a year, and everything was as bleak as the smoggy sky. Obviously, this is miserable, so Grantaire does the one thing he was too cowardly to do over the past half-year. He calls Joly, of course. Then Bossuet, Bahorel, Éponine, and Feuilly. None of them yield the answer he so desperately desires. _One last chance._ Grantaire dials Jehan’s number and is disappointed but not surprised when his reply is the same. He does add at the end, though, “I’ll text you Courf’s number. He might know.”

Courfeyrac does indeed know. It doesn’t come at a small price, however. It costs Grantaire a lot of his dignity and sanity to Courfeyrac’s teasing. He zones out of most of it, answering only with vague noises until Courfeyrac sighs, “Alright, I’ll stop chattering if you get out of your apartment. Man up and just kiss him, goddamnit.”

Grantaire thanks him and hangs up. He thinks he forgot to lock his door in his frantic rush out of the flat but doesn’t look back. He runs all eight minutes before coming to a stop in front of Enjolras’s apartment. And hangs out in front of the door for another good ten minutes, internally panicking. Grantaire takes a deep breath, coughing a little because _smog_, and raises his fist to knock. He doesn’t get the chance because the door opens before his hand makes contact, and Enjolras is standing in the doorway in a t-shirt and sweatpants. “So, to what do I owe the honor of seeing you so soon after _Phantom_ ended? I think you forgot that you aren’t the only one who has windows. It was pretty funny watching y-”

Grantaire pulls at his hair and blurts out, “I LOVE YOU.”

He doesn’t look up to see Enjolras’s expression, but the silence is enough for him to keep rambling, “Ok, uh, that was really random, uh, if you don’t feel the same way, um, I’ll just disappear forever I guess… breathe, R, breathe… wow, uh, I’m just gonna… I don’t know… kiss you? If you don’t feel the same way, please push me away before I get my hopes up, and I’ll be out of your life forever. You won’t have to see me ever again.”

There’s no response. Grantaire panics for a solid moment before grasping Enjolras’s collar and pulling him close. He thinks, _screw it, this really could be the “final threshold”_ and raises himself the single inch that’s required in order for him to press his lips gently against Enjolras’s unwitting mouth. Grantaire knows that he calls Enjolras ‘Apollo’ but for two seconds, he actually feels like a marble statue. Unfortunately, two seconds are all it takes for Grantaire to begin pulling away, dejected, before an arm shoots out and wraps itself around his waist. _O-oh, hopes are officially up._ Grantaire simply melts because Enjolras kisses with the same passion that he acts with. Grantaire feels Enjolras tug them both into the apartment and slam the door. _Oh, so soft..._

The way that Grantaire gulps in air can’t possibly be seen as attractive. Nevertheless, Enjolras leans his forehead against Grantaire’s and stares straight into his eyes. _Blue_, is Grantaire’s only coherent thought at the moment, especially when Enjolras shifts to the side, tracing his lips along Grantaire's cheekbone, to whisper in his ear, “I think I lost you at ‘I love you’. I couldn’t process anything that you said after that. Emotional range of a turtle, remember?”

Grantaire huffs a laugh and stutters, “O-oh, of course. Y-you froze for a moment there.”

“Sorry, but in case you wanted to hear it, I love you too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Grantaire thinks he’s going to become a puddle of blushing goo when Enjolras brushes his sweet, _sweet_ lips against Grantaire’s cheek. His body decides that it doesn’t want to hold him up, so he slumps inelegantly against Enjolras. Enjolras _giggles_ (what the heck) and starts smothering Grantaire’s face with kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love your blue eyes that bare your emotions even through a mask, I love your dark hair even when it’s crusted with gel, I love your red cheeks even when they glow brighter than a traffic light whenever you get embarrassed by our friends. And of course, I love your sarcastic personality and incredible voice.”

Grantaire’s face feels like a firefly’s butt at the rate it flushes. He clears his throat to return the favor because complimenting others is so much more comfortable than receiving them. “I love your beautiful hair that reflects the shine of the stage lighting, I love your voice that is passionate and so smooth, I love your glorious butt that I admittedly stared at much too often before I stripped away the layers of your personality to the dorky man I see in front of me.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

Grantaire makes a happy noise and attacks Enjolras with a tight hug. “You’re such an onion.”

“What?”

“Layers. Of personality. Allow me to elaborate. The very outside is that Apollonian arrogance with a hint of stick-up-the-ass.”

“Oh my God.”

“Once you peel that away, it’s awkwardness. I’ve seen the way you interact with fans. You think you’re so charismatic, but you just want to run away.”

“Damn it.”

“Still charming, though. And after that is your anxiety. Before _Phantom_, I’ve only ever seen you onstage, literally above me and everyone else. Gorgeous and untouchable. But witnessing your outburst the day before opening night forced me to realize that I shouldn’t idolize you the way I did in the past.”

“So stop calling me ‘Apollo’.”

“Never. You sing like a god of music, y’know? But the center of the Enjy Onion is this: the lovely human being that I can’t seem to stop thinking of. The caring one who cuddles me after a cry and sings songs that help me sleep. The cute one who pouts and likes my kitten curtains, what a dork. The funny one who cracks jokes and has a witty and sarcastic sense of humor. The sweet one sitting next to me that I get to hug and kiss and hold hands with because I’m so, so in love with him.”

Enjolras lets out a sound akin to a whimper and kisses Grantaire, hard. He grins against Enjolras’s warm lips, and the two of them sit on the cold floor of Enjolras’s apartment, huddling together and blushing. If they migrate behind the closed doors of his bedroom, nobody will ever know. (They’re just cuddling, don’t worry.) _I dreamed that love would never die… _


	14. Of Dates and Dorkiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras finally gets what he wants...

“Go out with me.”

“So demanding, Apollo.”

“Enjolras. Your answer?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.”

That’s how the two of them end up in the Café Musain, sipping coffee and staring at each other after rolling out of bed the next day. And looking away, embarrassed, whenever they make eye contact. Enjolras opens his mouth to start a conversation, but Grantaire reaches across the small table to land a kiss on his nose. Enjolras goes cross-eyed for a moment, eliciting a sound of joy from Grantaire. “That’s just incredibly cute. _You’re_ incredibly cute.”

“Like you when you’re asleep on top of me?”

“That was _one_ time. And you’re a comfy pillow.”

Enjolras gasps in mock hurt, “That’s all I am to you? A pillow!”

“Nah, you’re my pillow and my blanket. When you put your arms around me.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see. Using me for cuddling.”

“No comment. Remember when you got super drunk? That was frickin’ adorable.”

“Oh god. Nobody ever seems to want to tell me what I did. What did I do?”

“Uh, let’s just say you are a very affectionate drunk…”

“Oh no, what does that mean?”

“You lowkey started climbing into everyone’s laps and started hugging them. Also you slurred your speech and couldn’t pronounce your own name. So you kinda named yourself ‘Enjy’ and it stuck.”

“Yikes. That must have been from the amount of time I spend with Courf. Wait, so what did I do to you?”

Enjolras watches in curiosity as Grantaire slowly turns red, from his neck to the tips of his ears. He stutters, “W-well, uh, you kinda attached yourself to me and, uh, cuddled me? And you wouldn’t move from my lap and proceeded to call me, uh, cute.”

“Wow. Drunk Me really knows what’s up. I wholeheartedly agree, by the way. Seems like my subconscious knows me better than I think I do.”

“I sorta got really embarrassed because you really laid the praise down thick. I don’t take compliments very well, honestly. Besides, you’re the only one who gets called ‘Apollo’ here. Not me.”

“Well, your voice is worthy of that title. I nearly had an aneurysm the first time you opened your mouth. Yeah. In rehearsal? I fumbled for a moment because your singing is just _that_ lovely.”

“_Oh._”

Enjolras reaches across the table to pick up one of Grantaire’s hands. They’re very proportional hands, the size perfect for Enjolras to link their fingers together and raise one up to his lips, brushing them across Grantaire’s knuckles. Enjolras looks up and sees that Grantaire’s entire face is pretty much red. He takes that as a cue to continue making him flustered. “So. You aren’t exactly as subtle as you think, R.”

“Wait, what?”

“Two days ago, when you kept caressing my cheek? Yeah. Mocking touches aren’t supposed to feel quite so nice.”

“O-oh great.”

“Thankfully the audience didn’t notice. But I sure did.”

“S-shut up!”

“Nah, you’re so adorable when you look so flustered! Oh, but did you know that I desperately wanted to kiss you opening night? I’d pinned you down, right? And you were _right there_ looking so soft and vulnerable. I would have given the audience something else to consider in the love triangle if Éponine hadn’t pulled me away.”

Grantaire throws his hands up in exasperation. “So why didn’t you do something after the show? That would have saved me so much stress because I fell hard, and I didn’t know if you shared my feelings!”

“It would have been extremely distracting to have you right there and not be able to kiss you, R. I was doing it for the sake of the show. And for Javert’s sake. That man looked like he was going to bust a vein. I also didn’t want you to chalk it up to post-show excitement and decide that I didn’t have genuine feelings for you.”

“Genuine feelings… o-oh. Still, I wish I didn’t have to pine after you hopelessly. I wanted to do something for the past eight months but was too cowardly to even make a move.”

“Honestly, same. I was a little afraid that you’d be appalled by me. I tried to say something after the show on closing night because if you didn’t reciprocate, I would be able to nurse my wounded feelings alone and never have to see you again. But I couldn’t ever deal with never seeing you again, so I pushed down the urge to press you against the door of your dressing room and make out with you.”

“Apollo, there hasn’t been a time that I didn’t want to kiss you. Probably since we cuddled on my couch, while watching you onscreen. And you know that I would never be appalled by someone like you. I’m sure that I’ve stared at your shiny butt plenty of times too.”

“My what? Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what my butt looks like! I hear everyone commenting about it all the time, but I don’t see what makes mine stand out in a crowd… ”

“I mean, that’s a good thing, right? Constantly turning to stare at your behind could come off as a little weird or narcissistic…”

Enjolras jerks a little when Grantaire’s other hand snakes under the table and pinches his aforementioned “shiny butt”. He glares half-heartedly and retaliates by swatting Grantaire’s thigh. Enjolras smirks and says in a low voice, “If you think my butt is so nice, then you haven’t noticed all the attention I fix on your _thighs_.”

“Ok, what? Since when?”

Enjolras shrugs, unconcerned, “Oh, maybe the first rehearsal. Feuilly mentioned something about you dancing ballet, and I couldn’t get a picture of you in tights and stuff out of my head. I also overheard Bahorel talking, his voice isn’t exactly what you would consider an, uh, indoor voice. He said something about your leaps?”

“Oh, God. Well you did eventually see me in tights. When I was wearing The Costume That Shall Not Be Named.”

Grantaire shudders in terror of that dreaded thing, and Enjolras doesn’t blame him. “Sure, but they made your pants a lot tighter than the original musical’s. When you first walked out, I had to focus in order to look at your face and not your legs.”

“Haha… why are we both so perverted? And talking about this in public no less. But speaking of pants, I mean, I literally felt like I was going to die after seeing you in those fitted trousers.”

“Like how I nearly had a heart attack seeing you in that black suit? It’s a good look on you. But hoodies and jeans look good on you too. Heck, anything would, honestly. Or nothing.”

“We need Jesus.”

“Hey, not my fault you weren’t dressed in time!”

“Pshh whatever. Did you end up keeping anything?”

“Nope. But I’m pretty sure that you did.”

“Shh, nobody will ever know that I took the mask.”

“It would be kinda pointless for them to keep all twenty or so copies considering they’re supposed to fit only your face.”

“Exactly! They made so many of them in case I happened to break one. Lack of confidence in me, wow. Now, back to your glorious posterior.”

“My butt is… whatever. I wanted to scream from second-hand embarrassment when Courf groped your thighs that one time.”

“Steel… well I had to be able to jump like a hundred feet into the air and do turns until I wanted to throw up from the vertigo. So yeah, leg muscles.”

Enjolras can’t help but feel his cheeks heat up at that majestic vision in his head. He mutters, “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to dance for me?”

“I am so out of practice, I probably couldn’t do anything outside of a waltz and a graceless flop onto the couch. My parents were the ones who wanted me to do ballet in the first place, but they also wanted me to quit because it was too ‘feminine’.”

Enjolras pretty much snarls, “That’s absolute bullshit. You’re hotter than any other guy I know. I honestly both admire and envy your body, y’know? Like when you took off your suit for the labyrinth scene? I had to force down the heat in my face and struggle to keep a straight expression because your _waist_ and your _shoulders_ and _literally everything else_.”

He relishes in Grantaire’s flush and leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Ok, ok. As for dancing, looks like we’ll just have to stick to ‘Sixteen Going On Seventeen’ from now on. And I’ll actually kiss you afterwards. After all, you need someone older and wiser telling you what to do.”

“Oh, please. You’re not that much older than me.”

“Don’t even think that I’ll believe that you don’t know anything about ‘drinkers of brandies’ at any point, R. Also, innocent as a rose? Yeah, right. You checking out my ass definitely proves otherwise. But I will tell you that you’re sweet, and you’d better willingly believe it.”

“Sh-shut up, Apollo. You’re sweet.”

Muffled laughter floats from the other side of the café. Enjolras snaps his head in that direction and groans, “I think our friends decided to not-so-discreetly stalk us on our first date.”

“Haha, how did that even happen? Oh. Right.”

“You’re kinda well known now? And so am I? But somehow we totally missed them enter because of the morning rush for coffee.”

Enjolras raises his voice, “Hey, Grantaire? I wonder how you obtained my address. Poor you, I bet you had to run around Paris trying every single apartment because Courf was too mean to give it to you.”

He hears an indignant squawk, and soon enough, they both find themselves with a face full of Courfeyrac. “Well, Courf. It’s nice that you can join us.”

“I’m mean? I’M MEAN??? Enjy, if I’m mean, then you’re the devil!”

Grantaire interrupts, “A devil with a very nice butt.”

“If it weren’t for that heartfelt speech about me being an onion that you gave yesterday, I’d be convinced that you’re my boyfriend just for my butt.”

“Courf’s right. A devil. So rude.”

“I’m not rude. I’m desperately in love with you.”

“Ack! You can’t just say things like that! And so smoothly too!”

The corner of Enjolras’s lips twitches up, especially as he notices Courfeyrac listen to this exchange with a wide-eyed expression. His head whips back and forth between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis game. Eventually, Courfeyrac tires of Enjolras and Grantaire staring into each others’ eyes and marches back to where Combeferre, Jehan, and Marius sit. Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief and holds his hand out to Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here before they decide to bombard us with questions like crazed fans or something.”

“Y’know, I could definitely own some more dress clothes. Let’s go to Galeries Lafayette.”

“Suits. Yes.”

“You look good in a suit.”

“You too.”

“Ok, that was a little pointless to mention.”

That’s how the two of them end up suit-shopping and trying on everything from shirts and pants to dresses and skirts. Let’s just say that Enjolras had a lot of fun in the dressing rooms. By the end of the day, Enjolras’s hair is a mess and loose from its ponytail before he decides, _I’m going to cut it off_. Enjolras watches in a little sadness as his blonde locks get chopped to a much more standard length. Grantaire simply sits there and squeezes Enjolras’s hand. The first thing Enjolras feels when the two of them step out is Grantaire’s fingers running through his hair. “It’s so soft.”

“I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Literally.”

“Har har har. Apollo has a sense of humor.”

“Yes, we’ve established this.”

“You look nice, though.”

“Thank you. As do you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The rest of the day is spent wandering around on the disgusting Parisian streets and breathing in the smoggy Parisian air, acting disgustingly adorable and couple-like. They share food like sickeningly sweet newlyweds, and Grantaire thinks, _everyone else can deal with it. I’ve waited almost a year for Enjolras to be mine. For me to be his. And I couldn’t be happier._

They make it back to Grantaire’s couch and wrap a blanket around the two of them. (Oh yeah, the door was locked in Grantaire’s hurry to Enjolras’s place.) Grantaire leans in close and whispers in Enjolras’s ear, “Say you’ll love me every waking moment.”

Enjolras smiles fondly and returns, “Love me, that’s all I ask of you.”

There’s no music when they kiss, but there’s music in their hearts when slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. _No fear, no regret…_


	15. Of Epilogues and Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is happy...

Two years later sees everyone reunited back in the Théâtre Mogador. Éponine, Cosette, and Musichetta are dressed in brilliant gowns of various colors. A wedding band shines on Cosette’s left hand, the matching one on Marius’s hand down in the pit. It flashes on the fingerboard of his cello when he plays. Jehan looks like an angel when he sits down by his harp, long auburn hair reaching his waist. Combeferre and Courfeyrac embrace solidly before sitting down and warming up. They all look handsome and put-together wearing their pit black and tuxedos. Feuilly and Bahorel are somewhere in the middle of the crowd onstage along with Joly and Bossuet.

Enjolras turns to the man next to him. Of course, Grantaire looks beautiful in the suit from their first date. He’s looked lovely in every single day (and night) they’ve spent together and every single show that he’s performed. Enjolras grasps Grantaire’s gloved hand and entangles their fingers. For the anniversary of _The Phantom of the Opera_ on Stage Entertainment France, the company got everyone together to perform a concert for anyone in Paris who couldn’t afford to see the actual show. The camera broadcasting this to the city looms above the stage, capturing every movement of every single person. Combeferre starts the overture with his capable hands, the organ music bringing nostalgia to Enjolras.

The overture bleeds into “The Phantom of the Opera”, which bleeds into “The Music of the Night” and many other popular numbers before they reach the last scene. It’s a little dark for Enjolras’s taste and a celebration concert, but the song involves everyone in the cast, so it’s okay. Enjolras feels his heart break a little again when Grantaire sings a rendition of “Masquerade” in a forlorn voice with only the music box to accompany him. He ends with a broken sob, _“It’s over now, the music of the night…”_

The audience applauds, but before they could start standing and cheering, Enjolras catches Valjean’s eye. Everyone silences and on his cue, Jehan plays the first motif with the strings and clarinets of “All I Ask of You”. Everyone onstage quietly fades into the wings, save for Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras takes a deep breath, turns to Grantaire, looks straight into his wide blue eyes, and starts singing. Somewhere in the middle of the song, he takes both of Grantaire’s hands in his own and smiles a little at him. Enjolras goes ahead and sings Éponine’s part as well, taking everything down to be comfortable in his baritone range. In his own lyrics, he replaces “Christine” with Grantaire’s name, hoping to convey his message effectively._ “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime… Say the word and I will follow you…”_

Enjolras thinks, _if you’ll permit it_, before kneeling in front of Grantaire, taking a ring out of his suit pocket. He doesn’t need to say anything else (because the song said everything, duh), and Grantaire nods minutely before bursting into tears. Enjolras stands up, wordlessly wipes the tears off Grantaire’s glowing cheeks, slips his glove off, and slips the ring on. Enjolras staggers a little under the force of Grantaire’s hug, and everyone in the audience and in the wings cheer wildly when their lips meet. They break the kiss to face the audience, hands tightly clasped. Enjolras yells, “How’s that for a statement? This wonderful and charming man deserves everything and more. Since he loves me so much, I want to give him something even better.”

Grantaire blushes and ducks his head into the crook of Enjolras’s neck. “I love you so much, damn it. And that’s pretty gay, my Vicomte. My Apollo. My Enjolras.”

“I love you more, my Phantom. My R. And newsflash, love, we’re here and we’re queer. You also just agreed to marry me, so that makes both of us equally gay.”

The people in the audience give them a standing ovation when they kiss once more.

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!_

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are my references:  
[ Scheduling ](http://www.playbill.com/article/ask-playbillcom-rehearsal-schedule-com-146459)  
[ Glossary ](https://web.stanford.edu/~jrb/wbo/chorus/glossary.html)  
[ POTO Piano Score ](https://www.scribd.com/doc/31376450/The-Phantom-of-the-Opera-Vocal-piano-Score)  
[ Les Mis Libretto ](https://www.sjhsknights.com/uploaded/2/les-miserables-libretto.pdf)  
[ Reference for E ](https://jazzysatindoll.tumblr.com/post/57337532302/belated-bday-present-to-pilf-who-has-become-my)  
[ Reference for R ](https://jazzysatindoll.tumblr.com/post/52467543545/semmar-photos-by-ross-ferguson)  
[ Other Reference for R ](https://pin.it/4fqjrqbz4sbbj4)
> 
> Honestly, imagine them however you like. I just really like the casting for the movie. So good... Also Fra Fee can play flute? Incredible, but I'm still making Courf a bassoonist in this.
> 
> Here are my part assignments:
> 
> Cast:  
The Phantom: Grantaire  
Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny: Enjolras  
Christine Daae: Éponine Thénardier  
Meg Giry: Cosette Fauchelevent  
Madame Giry: Fantine  
Carlotta Giudicelli: Musichetta  
Monsieur Andre: Joly  
Monsieur Firmin: Bossuet L’Aigle  
Joseph Buquet: Feuilly  
Old Raoul: Bishop Myriel (lmao)
> 
> Crew:  
Stage Manager: Thénardier  
Lighting Design: Montparnasse  
Sound Design: Brujon  
Set Design: Babet  
Costume Design: Claquesous
> 
> Pit:  
Conductor: Jean Valjean  
Woodwind V (Bassoon): Courfeyrac  
Horn I: Azelma Thénardier  
Trombone: The Sewers (asdfghjkl lol)  
Percussion: Gavroche Thénardier (I’m aging him up here, also he’s Éponine’s brother so it’s okay)  
Keyboard I: Combeferre  
Harp: Jehan  
Cello (2 recommended): Marius Pontmercy
> 
> Ballet Corps:  
Slavemaster: Bahorel
> 
> If you can catch all the references from the musical, book, etc. , good for you. Ok. So I have things to say: Enjolras obviously knows how to dance because _musical theatre_. Grantaire’s just better because y’know, _ballet_. And by default, he has nice thighs, calves, abs, everything. Also, they’re gay. Obviously. But that doesn’t mean they have to speak with inflections or anything. It’s just supposed to be funny and cute.


End file.
